


00Q Moments

by Rigel99



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, 100 words, M/M, Wordcount: 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:50:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 316
Words: 36,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: 100 word snapshots of life around my OTP. Enjoy!





	1. Sleek Timekeeper

 

Q woke gently to one cat curled up on his pillow, tucked and purringinto his shoulder, the second, stretched long, lithe and warm along his side, hip to knee. A third, unexpected sensation, an equally sleek caress moved with soft purpose up his calf muscle, gliding smoothly to glance across the back of his knee and coming to still on the inside of his thigh.

Q sighed.

“You’re back early,” he murmured with sleep-encrusted words into his comforter. The hand kept silent.

With a long, slow exhale, it simply resumed its direction of travel.

“Right on time I’d say…”


	2. Licence To Kilt

“You appear to be wearing… a skirt, Bond?”

James rolled his eyes, snagging a flute of champagne from a passing tray. Not only donned in his tartan, but his torso was uniform adorned, medals gracing his chest.

Q turned his attention elsewhere, inhaling a deep breath, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t worry, Quartermaster.”

“And why would I be worried?” he asked, frowning through tight lips.

Gazes met, Bond’s eyes momentarily reflecting warmth, not the usual demeanour of stone-cold killer.

“I’ve booked a room. So you won’t have to wait _too_ long to get your hands on my sgian dubh…”


	3. Escape

Well.

This was a treat Bond hadn’t expected when he arrived in Q Branch to log his equipment.

He leaned against the office doorjamb and watched with a smile and a reignited sparkle to his eyes.

Q was standing behind his desk. Not so much standing? As dancing. Hips moving to a beat that Bond could faintly hear floating from his headphones… Enrique Iglesias? Eyes closed, completely lost to the music. Arms flung out, Q twirled on his heel.

And froze.

“Seeking a little escape, Q?”

“Breathe a word about this, 007…”

Eyebrow raised. “What’s my silence worth?” Bond enquired…


	4. Caturday Hugs

It was… comforting…. His Cashmere.

Q shrugged his body deeper into the pullover’s cavity, sleeves just coming down to his knuckles, hem falling loosely over slender hips.

The rain outside fell soft like the purrs coming from the sofa in the other room. Q sipped his freshly brewed cup of Earl Grey and softly sock-footed it back to his place, nestled between the plush cushions and the warm body of MI6’s most deadly agent, one hand resting on a cat, the other moving down to allow a nestling boffin resume his position.

No safer place. No warmer body.


	5. Evesdropping

“No,” came the Quartermaster’s exasperated voice, “not like that, like”—a grunt and what sounded like a thud against the opposite wall—“this.”

Eve’s knuckles hovered centimetres from the surface of Q’s door, before she flattened her palm against the surface and leaned to press her ear against the wood.

“If you say so, Q,” the distinct and unmistakeable timbre of Bond’s voice replied calmly. Eve’s eyes widened, her mind racing with the possibilities.

“Really 007, you’d suffer far fewer injuries if you just listened to me on occasion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind…” Eve heard Bond rumble, tiptoeing away.


	6. Armwrestle

R stood agape at the entrance to the bullpen, a scattering of minions gathered round a desk on the far side. Through the bodies, she saw her Quartermaster locked in an armwrestle hold with none other than James Bond.

“COME ON, SIR!” shouted someone. “For every piece of equipment he never brought home!”

Q was smirking. Bond was sporting a rapidly spreading tinge of pink and the barest trace of confusion on his face.

“Admit it, 007. Time is taking its toll…”

James pulled Q across the table and kissed him. Q succumbed.

“No fair!”

“Not fair at all, Q…”


	7. Ringtone

Q had his head buried halfway into the middle shelf behind his workstation, rummaging through the rubble of parts, wires and components - a system of organisation a mystery to all but himself.

Eve watched. Alan, by her side, receiving mandatory strokes.

“I mean really, Moneypenny. I don’t ask for much, do I?”

Silence only, while Q dismounted his stepladder with a mumble and a harrumph - a silence that was broken by three words and a vibration sound coming from Q’s desk.

_“Bond. James Bond.”_

Moneypenny raised an eyebrow. Q rolled his eyes reaching for his mobile.

“It’s not what you think, Moneypenny…”

Alan, the traitor, purred louder.


	8. Safe in the Dark

Power cut. Wonderful.

For all its cutting edginess, London still had its blips.

Q wasn’t to blame. This time. The low emergency light illuminating the hallway leading to his flat flickered once, causing him to falter in his steps. Instinct told him he was safe. It was a secure location. He is - not to be bigheaded about it - one of the most valued assets of Military Intelligence.

But it’s only when you feel a familiar calloused palm laid flat across your mouth, a firm but gentle grip around your waist in the dark?

You realise how truly safe you are.


	9. On Her Majesty's Drenched Service

“For buggering bugger’s sake!”

Despite the umbrella, Q was wet. At least from the waist down, rain lashing through the Autumn air attacking holed jeans barely clasping to his hips.

“Elizabeth! Lizzy…! LIZZY!!”

Q never lost his cool at Six. That was unacceptable. But he could where his missing cat was concerned. Out and about on London streets. He gripped her ID collar more firmly in his hand, strolling with purpose back towards his flat. Smartblood, he thought to himself, routing the corner and colliding with…

“Bond?”

A black and white furred face peered from beneath his overcoat.

Q smiled.


	10. Tea For Two

Q had his mind buried in the stats and numbers trailing across his iPad screen. His feet - on autopilot - carried him back to his station at the far end of the room, a natural parting to the path he took forming before his heartbeat-driven stride. It was only when he mounted the steps and stopped at his desk, he allowed his glance to escape its occupation, eyes tilting forward towards the glass teapot and two cups sitting there. A faint aroma of jasmine graced the air.

His gaze lifted further. And softened.

It always did.

“How was Tokyo, 007?”


	11. Hidden Talents

At the touch of Q’s lips, it grew long and swollen. Bond felt himself exhale a held breath. Q gasped as he squeezed and pulled expertly in the way he would handle any piece of tech requiring and deserving of his undivided attention.

A quick twist of his fingers and Q extended his masterpiece to the agent. Bond rolled his eyes.

“OK. Grudgingly, I admit.”

“Admit what, Bond?” Q prompted.

“You’re really going to make me say it?”

“If you want your watch with all the bells and whistles, yes.”

“It’s the best balloon giraffe I’ve even seen. Happy now?”


	12. Downtime

Bond scrolled through the TV listings with all the enthusiasm of a wolf just presented with a carrot for his dinner. He grimaced slightly as he reached for his tumbler with his other hand, forgetting about the sling in which his left arm was temporarily and snugly wrapped. His eye was caught by the earpiece he’d forgotten to drop off in Q Branch after Medical the day before. He shoved it in his ear without a second thought and fired off a brief text.

Three minutes later, the crisp, clipped voice of his Quartermaster sounded.

“007? Why aren’t you resting?”


	13. Ten Buttons Later

1\. “I’m not sure…”

2\. “About?”

3\. “Giving you my alarm code.”

4\. “Well. It would save me breaking in."

5\. “There is that I suppose.”

6\. “Especially just back from a mission. And I’m in need of medical attention.”

7\. “Then you should report into Six, Bond. That’s what Medical is for. To fix injured agents?”

8\. “I’m much rather have my Quartermaster fix me up. His tools are much more appealing and fit for purpose. In my humble opinion.”

9\. “Humble? There is nothing humble about you, James.”

10\. “And yet, you always bring me to my knees…”


	14. Doghouse

“If I had a fiver for every time an agent didn’t lose or destroy my equipment…!”

“We could both retire, Q.”

Moneypenny stood behind him, sharper than any agent that occasionally graced the inner machinations of Division, holding a mug of tea.

“Don’t ever leave me, Eve."

She raised an eyebrow to accompany the cheeky glint in her eye.

“But what about Bond?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Q blew gently across the liquid’s shimmering surface with pursed, full lips and sighed.

With a wicked smile he replied, “he’ll be too busy making himself comfortable in the doghouse I’m building him.”


	15. Hot Chocolate

A rare moment away from Six, Q entered the nearby coffee shop, open all hours. Thankfully.

Standing patiently at the counter, he waited for his order.

He felt the proximity alarm on his phone vibrate just as the barista slid his drink over.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. “James. You’re late.”

“Not too late to share a hot chocolate with my favourite Quartermaster I hope?”

“That depends,” replied Q levelly.

“On?”

Q turned his gaze on him then. Unassuming. Very much in control.

Blue. Heat. Skin. Sunkist afterglow. “How hot your particular brand of chocolate is, Bond.”


	16. Distraction

He smelled of bergamot and tasted of wine. Bond consumed the offering like a man bereft his entire life up to this point.

Q pulled back. Bond didn't follow, merely watched him in the semi-dark of the monitoring room, machines whirling quietly, filling the shared silence. Q took a long draft from the wine bottle before thrusting it into Bond's chest.

"Shift change or not, stop distracting my staff or I'll have you blacklisted from my department."

He exited the room then, though James knew more than taste and smell would be waiting in tangled sheets mere hours away.


	17. Scrabble

Q sauntered into his living room, cats trailing behind him and plonked a colourful rectangular box in front of Bond, who was currently hiding behind a Saturday newspaper. He peered around the sheets and gave the box his best stink-eye before turning his attention back to world events.

“I detest Scrabble,” Bond muttered.

Q, arms folded, jutted out a hip and placed an idle hand there. “And yet you don’t hesitate to employ your mastery of snark-infested vocabulary while gracing the comms whenever I am overseeing your missions.”

“That’s different. There’s a battle I know I can win.”


	18. Think

“Do you ever think…?”

Bond murmured sleepily. “I frequently try to refrain from such. Find it gets in the way. You should learn from your elders.”

Q huffed. “In the way of what exactly?”

“Well,” he replied moving his body to hover over the bare and beautiful form sprawled next to him. “When one thinks, one invariably feels the need to share one’s thoughts."

Bond cleared both their minds for several seconds before continuing.

“And when one considers the myriad of better uses to which lips and tongues can otherwise be employed…”

“I think you should shut up now, Bond…”


	19. How To Hit (On) Your Mark

Q frowned at the weapon, tapping a lower lip while considering what he was missing. All components were perfectly aligned so...

"It's not the gun."

Q startled ever so slightly. It was late. The range, empty. Bond stepped from the shadows.

"It's your stance. Your hips are slightly misaligned. You're not compensating elsewhere." He hovered behind him.

“May I?” he requested, hands above Q's hips, awaiting permission to touch.

A sharp nod as Q put the protectors back in place and engaged the Walther.

Bond pushed forward, then rolled back. Q smiled at the pull of the trigger.

Much better.


	20. Of Gods & Men

The priest watched the MI6 interrogator with calm detachment. Bond hovered on the other side of the two-way mirror, equally so.

Another notch in the MI6 belt against international human trafficking.

The clergyman would talk. Eventually.

“Do you believe in God, 007?” The soft voice of the Quartermaster was calming in its juxtaposition against the evil disguised as good before him.

“God doesn’t exist Q.”

“I think he does.”

“An unusual position for a man of science.”

“The things men do to each other? Are too unreal to be grounded in the mind of men alone.”

Bond could hardly disagree.


	21. Birthday Suit For The Birthday Boy

“Blast!” mumbled Q, stumbling across the threshold of his front door and nearly falling flat on his face thanks to his black and white nemesis hovering - silent but treacherously - on the other side.

Q was late. He hated being late. He shrugged off his coat and stripped himself off while heading towards his bathroom. A five minute shower would have to suffice, Bond having booked the table for 8pm.

Head wrapped in a towel, he collided with before he saw the solid mass of golden-hued muscle at his bedroom door, wearing nothing but a sly grin.

“Happy Birthday, Quartermaster…”


	22. Tiger, Tiger

“Agent, Agent, burning bright

Blowing up my stuff

And not giving a—“

“Q?”

Q cleared his throat at the sound of his superior’s voice behind him.

“Ah. Sir.”

Bond - the bastard - was chuckling on the other end of the comms.

“007’s status? Update?”

“On target, Sir. Extraction team should liaise with his location within the hour.”

“Very well. And Q? Might I suggest expanding your vocabulary? You have the makings of a poet. Just a little refinement required,” he said, strolling away.

“Don’t worry Q. I’ll be more than happy help you expand your vocabulary when I get back…”


	23. Bob Dylan & The Exploding Pen Trope

_**Six months ago** _

“What do I have to do to qualify for an exploding pen?”

“Why nothing at all, 007. That’s right. Because you are NEVER GETTING ONE. I have far more important things to be doing with my time than building you things that blow up other things.”

“Let’s say hell froze over or M got abducted by aliens…”

“Or perhaps Bob Dylan winning the Nobel Prize for Literature? Why certainly then, Bond. Consider yourself exploding pen endowed…”

_**Yesterday Afternoon** _

“You, Agent 007 are the very embodiment of the Devil himself,” said Q, handing him his shiny new toy.

 


	24. GCH-Q

“So if you overlay the codes, here and… here,” said Q, with a flourish of long fingers across the keyboard, “you’ll find you can create a safe and almost impenetrable space for the storage of encrypted material.”

“Almost?”

“Well, yes. Nothing’s infallible now, is it?” he replied, finally looking away from the screen, over the frame of his glasses, to the senior tech standing next to him - a tech who should have been watching the screen himself but was studiously gazing at… him.

“Fascinating…”

“Finished, Quartermaster?”

Q looked over at the waiting agent then. And swallowed.

Oh, he would be…


	25. Emergency Exit

 

“Q. I need an exit.”

Rapid typing between laboured breaths beat through his mind while running the maze of corridors ahead of his pursuers.

Calling up the building schematics, Q applied his latest algorithm to locate the fastest route out of the building.

Preferably before the charges that Bond had laid in the basement blew him to kingdom come.

“Do you trust me, Bond?”

“With my life, Quartermaster,” Bond said, and Q could hear the smile in his voice with the words.

“You need to go down.”

“As soon as I get back,” replied Bond, leaping through the emergency exit.


	26. Ticklish Deliciousness

 

Q was frustrated.

“It’s not like you to give up so easily, Q. Keep looking,” rumbled Bond from his prone position.

“Bloody spies and their bloody secrets,” he mumbled, half to himself. “For all I know, I’ve touched on it several times and you’re just too buggering good at keeping a straight fa—!” Q halted his words and the hands roaming across the taut belly of the agent.

“You absolute bastard…” he ground out before bearing his mouth down on his grinning bedfellow’s hip and sinking his teeth into the muscle.

Bond couldn’t contain his bark of laughter.

“AHA! Gotcha!!”


	27. Spank

“Go ahead…”

“Are you sure, Q?”

He looked over his shoulder, a small smile playing on boyish features. And if _that_ didn’t do things to Bond.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it? The thought that you might enjoy hurting me.”

Bond was silent.

Q flexed his wrists against the ties above his head and leaned back to lure Bond’s lips to meet his own.

“It’s not about pain, James. It’s about trust. The trust you place in me each mission, returned.”

He lay his cheek back on the pillow just as Bond raised his hand.

“Firm but gentle,” Bond promised, seductively.


	28. Kiss It Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for justsit, who has requested I try my hand at something longer and kinkier and I'm actually giving it some serious thought!

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” Bond said with soft lips against a reddened cheek.

Q responded with a gentle chuckle and a sigh. “You sound almost apologetic. I did ask for it.”

“True, you did.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

“With anyone else…” Bond breathed reverently, lips moving from one cheek to the other, nose glancing lightly against the base of Q’s spine.

“I know,” Q whispered, rolling onto his back to reveal his rising interest.

Bond tilted his eyes up across Q’s chest to meet his cheeky expression.

“You can kiss that better while you down there.”

 


	29. Blow

Bond’s ministrations did not falter. Ever the attentive lover.

The cool breath gusting gently from his lips provided more than the simple but welcome physical soothing of Q’s skin, still warm and smarting from the flat of his palm against its inviting softness. The juxtaposition of Bond here versus Bond on mission, never failed to leave yet another imprint on him, another mark that he accepted would seal his complete and indisputable ownership of Q’s soul and his mind.

“You know, when you’re not dashing across the globe, blowing things up…”

“I like to think I’m still blowing your mind.”

 


	30. Birthaze

“It’s your birthday?! You never told me it was your birthday!”

Bond stared at the pink - yes, PINK - envelope in his hand. It could only mean one thing.

“Bloody Moneypenny,” he groused under his breath, already plotting his revenge.

Q was looking absolutely gleeful. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Bond. Open the damn thing!”

Bond huffed silently. May as well get it over with.

"Birthdays are like rim jobs ... open up and get ready for another great year!"?

Q was positively beside himself with laughter. Looks like I’ll have to double down on the revenge, Bond thought to himself.


	31. Melody

“What is it?” asked Q, drinking the scent through his nostrils, lapping at the aroma as a cat would caress the top layer of a bowl of milk with her tongue.

“It’s called Melody. Quite aesthetically pleasing to the eye as well as the sense of smell, wouldn’t you agree, Q?”

Q glanced up at him, the agent drinking him in with equal enthusiasm as Q considered the new discovery of blossoming tea.

“Well, I don’t quite know what to say, Bond.”

“I’d prefer a show rather than a tell. Later,” he replied. “I’ll even let you choose the music…”


	32. CQMFORT

Blankets, throws and soft, downy cushions.

The hard, sharp edges of Q’s naked body nestled in a cocoon of comfort and warmth after a long and arduous two days fighting the hardline bureaucracy defending the hard choices he was forced to make in the face of a seemingly insubordinate Double O.

“Want me to booby trap his flat?” came the soft rumble from the edge of the bed, just before the mattress dipped and a strong hand found itself caressing Q’s thick, dark nest of hair.

Q snuggled deeper. “Don’t worry, James. I know Alec’s soft spots well enough.”


	33. Fireworks

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Bond stopped dead in his tracks. “I bloody hate surprises as well you know.”

“After all the times I’ve hauled your backside out of the rubble you have the gall to question my motives?” Q mocked good-naturedly.

“Yes.”

Q carried on walking, a few metres ahead of Bond who resumed following, glancing around aimlessly, not noticing Q disappear around a corner. Bond quickly darted into the shadows after him, familiar hands grabbing his waist.

The fireworks sounded distantly across the park.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” Bond whispered against his lips.


	34. Cr007ed Candelight

 

Technological advancement was to be revered, worshipped even, in Q’s mind. He wouldn’t be the man he was today without that ability to interface with the subliminal world of numbers as they existed in zeros and ones, the very fabric of the known universe and its translation into tangible form for the mind to process, a mind limited only by its physical form.

“What are you thinking about?” murmured Bond, lips pressed against the space between his shoulder blades.

“How the new could not possibly exist without the old…” whispered Q.

Pursing his lips to extinguish the flame.


	35. Daydream

_It wasn’t supposed to go like this, pinned against the rough brick wall in the bunker, wrists locked down against his side, fighting every instinct within, screaming to squirm against the agent while electricity arced hot and white between the nerve endings beneath the skin currently being assaulted by dry lips. He shifted his hips to bring a thigh between the Quartermaster’s legs, sinking deeper into the length of his taut body until…_

_“No, 007,” he whispered hoarsely._

“But I haven’t even asked the question.” 

Q opened his eyes, clearing his throat. “Ah Bond. What havoc are you wrecking today?”


	36. Velocity

“She needs a name.”

“You made her Q. And as the creator you deserve to bestow that.”

“Ideas?”

Bond quirked an eyebrow. “You’re asking for _my_ help?” he teased.

“Yes, _James._ Contrary to your behaviour I’m capable of asking for assistance instead of not listening to good advice from one’s handler, when it’s designed to save his arse I might venture.”

Bond placed a hand on his chin and circled Q’s latest addition to his arsenal.

“How about Velocity?” he said, running his hand lovingly over the body while looking at Q. “Though I promise to take things slow myself…”


	37. Peach

With one hand on the keyboard, Q reached for the lunchbox sitting to his right. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he lifted the fuzzy, soft but firm peach to his lips. Sinking his teeth halfway into the flesh, he stopped. Frowning, he turned to ask a nearby minion a question about the preliminary data he was currently scanning…  
  
…Only to be greeted by the sight of a smooth-suited backside bent several metres away, picking up a folder from the floor.  
  
Bond straightened, turning to meet a hungry stare. “Georgia Peach? Sweet this time of year, aren’t they?”


	38. Twin

“You have a twin? And I’m only learning this now, why?”

“You’re only learning this now, Bond, because he’s coming to visit and with your penchant for breaking into my place without even a warning shot across my bow, I don’t want you stumbling into my shower thinking it’s me and giving him a heart attack in the process!” he said with strained patience while divesting Bond of his equipment.

“So all I’m asking is for you to exercise a little discretion.”

“I’ll do my best, Quartermaster.”

“Your best better be up to par, 007. Otherwise…”

Bond smiled in understanding.


	39. Evil Genius

Alan paced along Q’s desk, stopping occasionally to peer enquiringly over the top of his laptop screen.

Q was diligently ignoring the feline demands.

Alan circled around to place himself bodily between Q and his laptop, eliciting a curse from Q and a shooing off his desk. Alan huffed and strutted out the door ajar.

It was minutes later when Q looked up to see one 007 standing leaning in his doorjamb, looking like an evil genius, Alan nuzzling his chin and throwing random scorned glares in Q’s direction.

“007…”

“Please Q continue. Alan and I are getting along famously…”


	40. Lust For Power

“What would be your first act in office were you to be elected Prime Minister?” Bond called from the bedroom.

Q switched off the kettle, filling his mug. “PM? Rubbish job, 007. They have no real power. No autonomy in its true sense. It’s all an illusion to make people think they are led by one powerful being. Goes right back to the God Complex and our need to follow and be led.”

“Besides,” he said, his naked form reappearing. “Why, when I can wreck and rebuild you as often as possible, would I want that job? That’s _real_ power…”


	41. Stiff

Q was stiff. Being on his feet for nine hours, shepherding 009 across Canada hadn’t helped his back either. He made to shuffle his stance wider to relax his posture, only to nearly trip up on an undone shoelace.

“Bugger,” he mumbled, stretching to unlock his spine before bending down to lace himself up. Of course in that moment, a certain agent stepped onto his perch to stand in front of him. The shoes, unmistakably, the property of one 007.

And as Q looked up from his prone position to meet penetrating eyes, a certain other kind of stiffness returned.


	42. Taking A Hit

James tore at his shirt, ripping strips to tighten around the wound in Q’s shoulder.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Q,” he muttered breathlessly, a brief pause in the gunfire while their assailants reloaded and took stock.

“No, 007,” he replied, voice strained in pain. “I’m your fucking Quartermaster. And I won’t let you die on my watch. Either in the safety of Six or in the field at your side. You’re the fucking idiot if you th—“

Bond shut him up with a savage kiss.

“We get out of this? I’ll fuck that idiot right out of you,” he promised.


	43. Under The Hood

“That’s certainly a thing of beauty.”

Q sighed, pleased his work on the Aston DB was appreciated. It was only when he turned to face Bond, he realised he hadn’t actually…been…looking…at…the…

_Oh._

Q cleared his throat and moved towards the front of the vehicle. “Would you like to see what’s under the hood?” his words an attempt to distract the agent who of course, took that invitation not _entirely_ as meant. Bond placed one hand on the hood and used the other to take Q’s waist, wrestling him to lay flat across it.

And Q purred…


	44. Happy Birthday, 007

“You weren’t joking when you said there was something nice waiting for me to undo.”

Bond’s fingers gently traced the glistening cover that wrapped the present promised him by the Quartermaster earlier that day over lunch.

_“No clues? Not even a hint, Q?”_

_“Just… Handle with care,” the Quartermaster replied._

“You… continue to be a revelation…” whispered Bond, pressing down hard, to slid chest against back. “Even to a man who has had more than his fair share of surprises.”

Q inhaled as though it were a last gasp before James tugged the final ribbon.

An open gift. Bare, loved.


	45. Casino Royale

_“Eyes on the prize, 007,”_ Q said crisply in his ear.

Bond smiled allowing his eyes to trail across the delicate features of the dark-skinned beauty sitting across from him at the table.

Lifting the edge of his cards to assess his current standing with the Turn, he feigned his “tell”. He looked thoughtful for a moment before doubling his bet. His opponent called.

The River was kind to the agent.

_“Oh well played, Bond”._

The beauty rose and met him at his chair.

“Alas I must decline,” he murmured demurely to her offer. “I’ve already hit the jackpot.”


	46. Rhythm and Qs

“You must be Danny.”

“And you must be James.”

The hand in which he found his own, a gentle but firm shake, was long and slender, though slightly calloused in a way that only came with physical work. James imagined he was more sinewy than Q beneath his leather jacket and the even more untamed fringe that fell across his eyes.

He looked like he might be…

“…In a band, yes,” said Danny with a broad smile. “Rhythm guitar.”

Q appeared then, bearing tea. He didn’t miss a beat.

“Don’t let him string you along, Bond. He’s pickier than me.”


	47. You Only Live Twice

It was late, as usual, when Q got home. It had been a tough few months.

Q had met the agent once - at the National Gallery - to kit him out for the Patrice mission. Their connection had been immediate and filled with promise. Now, Q could only imagine… He dragged himself through his front door and turned to close it when a flash of fur darted passed his ankles.

“HEY!”

The animal instantly paused, turned and sat itself down. Q flicked on the light.

A familiar shade of blue filled his vision.

One snarky meow? And Q was in love…


	48. Live and Let Dye

Bond strolled into Q Branch with the usual aplomb, curious glances sliding from their workstations as he walked towards the Quartermaster’s post.

Q recognised the familiar gait approaching and turned to exchange the usual mutually snarky greetings.

He wasn’t expecting the sight of a dark-haired agent, styled and tweaked in all the right places, wire-framed glasses in place.

Q’s expression was schooled to perfection. “I thought you had a few years left before the mid-life crisis took hold, 007,” he observed mildly.

“Feeling as young as the man I’m shagging keeps the wolves of time at bay.”


	49. Litter

“Pregnant.”

Bond, who in that moment was aiming to drop his coat in one leisurely move onto Q’s coatrack felt it slip from his fingers and land with a soft rustle upon the hard floor.

“Pregnant,” he said flat and emotionless.

“Pregnant,” replied Q with a definitive nod.

“I thought he was a bloody male!” huffed Bond, bending to retrieve the garment after a quick recompose.

“Well. I suppose his ability to conceal that fact from us both just makes him incredibly suited to the world of espionage. Wouldn’t you concur, 007?”

Alan purred loud and proud in obvious agreement.


	50. Concealed Weapon

“Been holding out on me, Quartermaster?”

The water from the shower head in the MI6 gym suddenly felt very hot indeed. He kept his back to the agent and barely faltered in the quick and efficient movements used to lather his skin.

Wet and naked was perhaps not the most advisable position in which to find oneself whilst on the receiving end of the attentions of a Double O.

He grabbed a towel just as Bond stepped under the spray next to him.

“If ever you need that piece of equipment tested, feel free to seek me out,” he murmured.


	51. Revealed Weapon

Q turned his body to level a confident gaze on Bond.

“This piece of equipment will not be in need of testing, 007, given it’s in perfect working order.” He switched off the spray before tossing the towel over his shoulder. “Besides. Knowing full well your complete disregard for the safe handling of such delicate apparatus…” he began calmly.

Bond cut him off. “The idea that you think I wouldn’t treat the man who makes me such lovely toys with nothing but respect shocks me, Q.”

“Well then,” Q replied, strolling out. “I look forward to your proving me wrong.”


	52. Concealed Weapon Part II

“I fail to understand why you cannot or simply refuse to extend the same care in handling my weapons and tech when on assignment, Bond.”

“When in the field, it is important to practice stealth.”

“Meaning?” Q’s query came out hot and breathless, captured when Bond’s open lips pressed on his to silence the Quartermaster’s ramblings.

Q arched against the slow breach pinning him still, hips straining against those of the agent.

“Silence,” whispered Bond, “means to focus one’s attention on penetrating defences, winning over one’s adversary with calm, revelling quietly in the knowledge of a job well done.”

_“Gggodddd…”_


	53. Bloomin' Marvellous

Q strolled towards his office, glancing up to great the occasional colleague, curious at the sly smiles thrown his way. Arriving at his door, he noticed it slightly ajar, which should NOT be the case as his domain was fingerprint access only. He took a quick step back while pushing the door wide to be greeted by the sight of a bunch of roses in the middle of his desk.

He was walking slowly towards them, reaching for the card when Bond bustled in and scooped them into his arms.

“For Moneypenny,” he said to the unasked question, breezing out.


	54. Bloomin' Marvellous Part II

“They weren’t for you?” R enquired. “I reckon flowers is the least 007 could do to apologise for trashing that motorbike we provided.”

“You’re surprised?” Q huffed, feigning disinterest. “The man doesn’t have a remorseful bone in his body.”

A message popped up on his screen.

_JB: Meet me outside Six at six._

Q typed a response _._

_Q: Praytell why?_

_JB: Humour me._

At 1805, Q exited the building. The sight and sound of an agent-laden bike greeting him by the kerb.

James smiled. “You like?”

Q grabbed and kissed him hard. “Better than flowers any day,” he replied.


	55. Power Nap

Bond knocked firmly on Q’s door. Silence. He collared a minion walking by. “I was told the Quartermaster was in his office?”

The minion checked his watch. “Ah. Yes. He is. But… power nap.”

“Power nap…” Bond said through a smile.

“Sure. How else can he keep going round-the-clock?” he replied, walking on.

Bond took out his phone and pinged a text. It took five seconds for Q to stumble through the door, hair dishevelled, glasses skewed. Bond was leaning against the wall opposite, smiling.

“Next time, I’d very much like to be the cause of that look.”


	56. Q-Napped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Dark Jedi Queen.

“You spirit me away. You—you—“

“Mmmm… Quiet, Quartermaster,” Bond murmured into the nape of his neck, pressing his front firmly between the wall and his rapidly heating arousal. “I told you I wanted to deconstruct that composure of yours,” he said, unzipping his trousers, “ruffle that hair, skew those ridiculous glasses…” Q shook his head in feeble denial of his own burgeoning hardness, helpless in Bond’s firm, experienced grip.

“Oh _please, Bond…_ I— I’m not sure I can come back from this,” he pleaded hoarsely, “from you.”

Bond turned him, straightened his glasses. “Who says I want you to?”


	57. Qiss and Tell

The anglesof the Quartermaster’s body reminded Bond of a submarine, smooth but dangerous, a holster for weapons that he’d like to explore, learn and use at his leisure.

He kissed like he did most things. With intent to destroy. It was beautiful. It was enrapturing. And now, it belonged to Bond.

Or so he thought. Q was happy to correct that assumption.

“I’ve got you,” whispered Bond, breaking the kiss just as Q strengthened the grip and anchored his legs around Bond’s hips.

“Are you sure about that, Bond? Because it feels more— more as though I’ve got you…”


	58. Surrender

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Q scoffed. “Hardly. I spent MONTHS on that prototype. You _stole_ it. You’re an absolute piss-taking bastard, Bond, with no respect for the assets of Her Majesty’s Service.”

“You’re right. I’ve no excuse,” Bond’s voice came muffled through the closed door.

Silence then.

Q waited, certain there was nothing Bond could do to appease his humour until…

He heard a rustle outside and looked down to see a pair of Bond’s white briefs appear beneath the door.

Written across the front, TRUCE?

Q bit back his laugh.


	59. Double O Challenge

“What the blazes is going on?” questioned Q in a stringent tone walking up the aisle. “Obviously, I’m not working you lot hard enough…” he continued while a gap appeared in the gathered mass of minions revealing two agents, locked in an armwrestle at R’s workstation.

“What ARE you two idiots doing?” he huffed in exasperation.

“Bit busy,” said Bond. “Yeah. We’ll have this sorted in just a moment, Q,” countered Alec.

“Settling who’s going to take you out to dinner,” R whispered, a massive grin on her face.

Q looked unimpressed. “They can take each other,” he replied curtly.


	60. Apology

“When I said… I’d sooner… shove your apology… up my own arse… this wasn’t exactly what I meant, Bond.”

James merely hummed softly against the puckered muscle clenching around his tongue, his lips moving in gentle but purposeful response to the movements and murmurs of the Quartermaster’s body beneath him.

“That said, as apologies go, it’s certainly turning out to be one of the more appreciated ones you’ve ever given me.”

And on those final two words, Bond gave him all that he had to give, plunging deep with a merciless force of desire and want.

For once, apology accepted.


	61. A Water Pistol & A Walkman

“Well this really is Christmas, isn’t it?”

Q smirked.

“Assuming we’re in a time machine and you’ve transported us back to 1986.”

Q sighed. “Now 007. I gave fair warning and three strikes. If you can’t be bothered to look after my toys, well then. Lessons must be taught.”

“Even if those lessons might cost an agent his life in the field? Due to lack of proper furnishing with kit?”

Q stood up and turned to look down on Bond, letting his eyes linger on his mouth. “You’re a clever lad, 007. I’m sure you’re up to a little… improvisation.”


	62. Squeeze

“I know how to wield my own weapons, 007."

“Of course you do, Q. The mechanics at least.”

Q threw him a withering glare over his shoulder as he reloaded the Walther. Turning back to the target, he gave the slightest of starts when he felt Bond step close behind him.

“Here. Let me.” Placing one hand on his belly, the other beneath his hands. “Mirror my breath.”

Q did.

“Now. Like this…” Q felt a gentle squeeze against his stomach, “on the trigger. Don’t pull. Caress.”

Q exhaled and squeezed back.

Bond appraised the target. “In the throat. Impressive…”


	63. Solder

“Q?”

“OUCH! Jesus Fucking Balls!”

He swivelled round on the stool, away from his workstation to face the intruder. “For Christ sake, Bond, I thought I told you. Interruptions when I’m handling sharp and hot objects on pain of fucking death!”

Bond strolled closer and took the offended hand. “Let me see.”

He lodged himself between Q’s slightly splayed legs, took his hand and met his bewildered expression. “What ARE you doing?”

He kissed the mark on his wrist where the molten solder had left a slight burn and burned his gaze into Q’s. “Taking the edge off. For now…”


	64. Green-Eyed Bond

“…Sorry Eve. I have plans.”

“Plans, Quartermaster? Watering your Peace Lily? Grooming your cats? Washing your hair? Though granted that last one could take most of an evening.”

Q carried on typing whatever command thread was demanding his attention. “Actually I have a date,” Q said nonchalantly. Eve actually squealed a little. Bond, however, looked dubious. “And you’ve done a background check on this individual?”

“No need for that,” he replied, closing his laptop.

“No _need_? I beg to differ.”

“Why would I need to background check an agent?” he said, strolling away.

Bond impressively concealed his flare of jealousy.


	65. First Come, First Served

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For KaisaSolstys. Who recognised the potential of Alec in the mix.

“You’re new to the way of things round here, Trevelyn.”

“First come, first served, James. Just because I made the play and you’re eating my shrapnel…”

“Show some respect, Alec. Our Quartermaster isn’t an all-you-can-eat buffet,” growled Bond.

James was about to wipe the smug expression of Alec’s face when Q materialised.

“This way, Agents. Let’s get you kitted out,” he said with smooth professionalism.

Leading the way a few feet ahead of them, Alec nudged James, eyes firmly on the vision of trouser-clad pertness.

“I’d revise that buffet assessment if I were you,” he teased.


	66. Put A Pin In It

“Just put the pin back in the grenade, 006,” sighed Q with a smiling shake of his head. “I have your exit mapped so you don’t _have_ to blow a hole in the side of the building.”

_“Let me cook you dinner when I get back and I’ll swear off explosions for a month, Q.”_

“Don’t buy it, Q.”

Q didn’t turn around but indulged himself a roll of the eyes. “Really 007, I can’t be doing with both of you on my case right now. Trevelyn’s a handful as it is.”

 _“Promises, promises, Q,”_ Alec sounded in his ear.


	67. Double Uh Oh

Alan lay curled on Q’s lap, a cup of tea warming one hand while the other moved with steady purpose across the keys of his laptop. He smiled as his index finger hovered over ENT.

A sharp rap on his front door turned his smile into a frown until he realised it must be his neighbour, Mrs Jenkins, checking on when he’d need her to next feed Alan. He dislodged the cat, donned his robe and opened the door. He didn’t hide his surprise at being greeted by two of the agency’s deadliest commodities.

“We need you to choose, Q.”


	68. An Impossible Choice

“Choose.”

“Exactly,” both responded in tandem.

“I will do no such thing and neither you,” he punctuated the word with a pointed finger at 006, “or you,” he stated primly, repeating the motion aiming the digit at Bond, “can make me.”

He moved to swing the door shut only to have Trevelyn shove his foot into the gap and push his way in. “We’re not leaving until we get an answer, Q,” he said gruffly.

“If you two don’t want your next two assignments to be in a monastery and on penguin watch in the Antarctic...,” he said, backing away.


	69. Falling Slowly

“I swear I’ll ruin the both of you if you don’t leave,” said Q from his graceless position on the floor after tripping backwards over the traitorous cat weaving around his legs.

Alec and James threw each other a look, an imperceptible nod via their silent method of communication and bent down to grab him by the armpits and scoop him up into a standing position.

Q huffed and brushed himself down. “You’re both impossible. The pair of you.” Both stood before him. Arms folded across broad chests. Immovable objects waiting expectantly.

He sighed defeatedly. “I can’t. Don’t make me.”


	70. Unconditional Arrangement

Q turned his back, unable to look them in the eye while he spoke. He distracted himself by stroking Alan who had positioned himself on the kitchen island in front to him. He hung his head and shook it.

“I just can’t. I watch. I observe. I protect. That is my job.” He took a steadying breath and turned towards them. “To ask any more, to take any more, compromises my position and yours.” He stepped forward then, facing them down, daring them to defy their superior.

“You’re not asking. Or taking,” James replied levelly.

“We’re offering,” continued Alec. “Unconditionally.”


	71. You're Surrounded. May As Well Surrender.

Q couldn’t speak. Well, he wasn’t sure how he was expected to form words with one Double O standing behind him, arms around his waist; soft, full lips feathering the nape of his neck, while the other, his large hands resting on his chest explored cheek, forehead, the lobe of his ear. Q steadied himself by placing his own hands on Bond’s shoulders. As he surrendered to the demands of a starved body, the weight of their touch, the feel of their heat centring him in the moment, he wondered what good could come from this.

If any at all.


	72. Passion Qubed

Q felt lost.

Not lost, but losing himself.

Good thing he had a pair of strong hips clung between his thighs and an equally pair of strong hands with a firm but gentle hold on his hips, pushing and pulling in gentle encouragement. Every sense was heightened. He stole occasional embarrassed glances down at Alec, the agent’s smile making him feel like the centre of his world. The hair of Bond’s chest glanced teasingly across his shoulder blades, hips pressed against the hollow of Q’s back, warring with itself to bear down and back simultaneously.

“Break me,” he urged. “Please…”


	73. Back Seat Driver

“I never had you down as a back seat driver, Quartermaster,” Bond whispered into the bare hollow of pale throat. “I think I like it when you take control of the equipment.”

“It’s truly the only effective way to test the suspension of the vehicle,” said Q, flipping the catch behind Bond’s head so that the back of the seat suddenly collapsed horizontal.

“Besides, James,” he said, reaching between them to undo the belt of his trousers, “I know exactly when to accelerate, when to brake, hard enough to drive us off the cliff.”

Yes. Bond knew. All too well…


	74. Christmas Kittens

“Nonononono! You furry bloody menace!”

Q walked through the door, in mid motion of hanging up his parka, when he heard the crashing commotion tumbling from the living room.

He had two cats and a Double O currently off mission. He also had a Christmas tree.

It didn’t take a Grade A genius before even seeing the turmoil to figure out what would be waiting for him. He surveyed the scene.

Furballs, the picture of innocence on the sofa. An agent trapped beneath the prone branches, baubles and tinsel everywhere.

“Well happy holidays to me,” Q said with a grin.


	75. Bond vs Bourne

“Christ, he’s fucking amazing,” Q said dreamily.

“Frankly I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

Q rolled his eyes, stabbing the remote with his finger to switch off the movie. He twisted his body to face Bond’s lounging figure draped across the couch.

“Oh really? Jealous much, 007?” he goaded. “Unlike you, he can wield a pen and take down an enemy without the thing needing explosive capabilities.”

“You realise it’s a movie, Q? Fiction? Make believe? Reality is far harsher,” he said reaching to drag him against him. “Want to see what else I can make explode?”


	76. Strip Poker

The sock hit Q in the face before sliding into his lap.

He sighed. “I get the distinct impression you’re letting me win.”

“What on Earth makes you think that, Quartermaster?” said Bond innocently, tossing the other sock which landed neatly draped across his shoulder.

“Don’t do me any favours, will you,” huffed Q, putting his cards down on the table. “Fold.”

“Come now Q, at least try and call my bluff,” Bond teased, down to nothing but his suit trousers.

Q rose, sauntering towards the bedroom. “I’d sooner call you buff,” he said with a wiggle and a sigh.


	77. A Force Awakened

“Oh no,” said Q, testing the binds around his wrists, laughing so hard his stomach cramped, “this isn’t at all weird…”

Bond circled the bed silently, unnerving in itself. The man usually had plenty to say when he had Q in such a submissive position.

“I see,” Q continued, watching him from beneath a ruffled fringe. “Playing the strong, silent trooper of the Empire, are we?”

Bond tilted his head in quiet curiosity, contemplating what he was going to do to his captive Jedi. He cocked his weapon, pointing at Q.

“Mmmm… The Dark Side,” Q murmured with a smile.


	78. Pulse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had such a warm reception for these drabbles, I decided to continue. Hopefully, they will continue to be loved.
> 
> This one for thebookworm214.

The dot on the screen pulsed in time with his heart. When it sped up, Q’s heart rate quickened.

Q didn’t know what to make of that.

“Quartermaster…”

“I’m here, 007.”

“I find… I’m in dire need of something stiff.”

I’m sure there’ll be a bar in the airport. Have a martini. On me.”

“…………”

“Are you still there, Bond?”

“Maybe. Or I might be having an out-of-body experience.”

Q’s heart fluttered. A moment of panic. “Are you injured?”

“No. But imagining and looking forward to feeling your pulse against my mouth. To remind me how alive I am.”


	79. Momentary Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little MallQry

Mallory watched Q work the Agent, marvelled at such cool demeanour in one so young. Well, young in appearance at least. He felt the air shift beside him, a minion - Q’s PA - moving to pass him with a freshly replenished mug of tea in hand.

“Claudia, isn’t it?” queried Mallory. She stopped wide-eyed to look at him, blushing. “Sir?”

“Allow me,” he smiled, taking the mug.

Q turned to thank her, only to be faced with his superior.

“A pleasure, Q,” he rumbled. “Though I think we owe you more than a fresh cup of tea for your services.”


	80. The Christmas Movie Debate

“Die Hard. Obviously,” said Bond, tipping his beer bottle towards his lips.

“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie, Bond. Just because it’s set at Christmas doesn’t make it a Christmas movie.”

“Well on that logic, I don’t see how Trading Places is either, Q.”

Q untangled his legs from James’ and rolled forward to straddle him against the back of the sofa.

James looked on, entirely the compliant participant to the turn of events.

“Well the only way this evening could get more interesting is if we trade places.”

Q smiled. “You do want to die hard, don’t you?”


	81. Angel In The Morning

James cracked open an eye slowly.  
  
Christmas morning.

He tilted his head to the side to take in the sight of his bedfellow.

Well. This was new. It’d been a number of years since he’d woken up on Christmas Day nursing anything but a hangover.

But now… nursing a clear head and a decidedly eager erection.

Q grumbled and snuffled his face adorably into the pillow. Silver tinsel adorning his dishevelled mop, all wrapped up in pale smoothness, James shuffled closer to the boy, one eye open, watching him expectantly.

James reached for the tinsel. “Time to unwrap my present…”


	82. Christmas Wr(e)ath

“I thought I’d made myself crystal clear that NO ONE was to approach my workstation when I wasn’t there!” barked Q to the room in general. He was gratified to see most of the minions cowering behind their laptop and computer screens as he walked past, eyeing his desk with disdain at the holly, ivy, mistletoe, tinsel strewn over his laptop. A mince pie and warm mug of mulled cider next to it in his favourite mug.

“Who dares defy their Quartermaster?”

A message popped onto the screen. 

Bond.

_“The only one with enough lives brave enough to incur his Christmas wrath.”_


	83. Baubles: Handle With Care

The whoops coming from the main floor in Q Branch were enough to give Bond pause. Normally he couldn’t give a toss about the goings-on in the bowels of MI6, but revelry from the minions was rare at the best of times, even during Christmas.

He poked his head around the partition. Standing in the middle of the room stood Q, juggling three baubles obviously taken from the Christmas tree.

Bond committed the sight to memory.

“Careful Q!” he called. “That’s some delicate equipment you’re juggling there!”

The sound of crashing baubles as he walked off made him smile.


	84. Sushi/Something Fishy

“I hope sushi is acceptable?” Moneypenny blustered.

“More than. What would I do without you?” said Mallory with unabashed sincerity.

“Starve?” she retorted cheekily.

“Amongst other things,” he returned her smile. “Please ensure no interruptions for an hour? Q and I have some catchup and dull but necessary debriefing to tie up and I’d prefer we laid those beasts to rest in one sitting.”

“Of course, M,” she replied, her hand on the handle poised to close the door. “I’m off for lunch for the next 40 minutes but all calls will be forwarded to my mobile. No interruptions guaranteed...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A touch of MallQry!


	85. Out With A Bang

“No James. I don’t want to do _anything_ on New Year’s Eve.”

“Really?” James enquired innocently. “Not even ring in 2017 with a bang?”

On that word, Q felt his knees buckle beneath the thrusting weight of his agent. His own climax crested him to brief vestiges of oblivion, his own version of fireworks popping like bright specks behind his eyelids and firing his nerves, enticing a dancing path of goosebumps popping up in unexpected spots across his bare form.

Q collapsed face down on the bed. “I imagine I’ll have plenty of bangs to look forward to next year.”


	86. Bold Desires, Seductive Means

There was nothing delicate about the body beneath him. Certainly, at first glance, one might assume the slender form fragile, reflective of the inner machinations of a razor-sharp intellect.

The Agent had made the unforgivable mistake of allowing his first impression be dictated by youthful features and less-than-commanding tones.

Now, the man, kneeling on the bed before him, wrists pressed together behind his back, unbound, Bond knew this bold desirable creature was more than he deserved.

And with the seductive kiss that he placed between his shoulder blades, he conveyed exactly how fortunate he knew he was.


	87. Interrogation

Q strolled into the living room having just finished the washing up. Sipping a cup of tea, he wasn’t sure what had been going on but the scene before him was like something borne out of a 1970s style Western.

But starring cats and Russian agents.

Turing was perched on one sofa arm and Alec was perched opposite him.

“I’m not sure what you are hoping to achieve, 006, but no one - human or feline - has ever outstared Turing.”

“I’m practising my interrogation technique.”

Q smirked, until he realised Alec’s focussed had shifted to him.

The proper interrogation had begun.


	88. Strip The Willow(y)

Q was naked before they got to the bedroom.

“Is this typically how a Scotsman celebrates Burns Night?” Q said bemused and slightly breathless at the sight of Bond on his knees in front of him.

“Conformist I am not, Q,” he said with a grin, engulfing the man before he could respond. 

Q stumbled back. “Don’t tell me. Piping in the guest?”

“Some hae meat an canna eat, And some wad eat that want it,”said Bond, climbing over him. Q laughed delightedly at the appropriateness of the Selkirk Grace.

“Now?”

“Now? We spear the Haggis…” Bond growled wickedly.


	89. The Qualities Of A Sadist

A vivid imagination was one of a myriad of gifts with which James Bond was blessed.

Patience was another. For any sadist worth his salt, patience was an art form.

MI6 was lucky to have him. And there were times, particularly moments like these, in which he considered Queen and Country owed him a debt of gratitude he had yet to cash in.

It appeared, the time had come to call in that debt.

Bond played down his interest, but the boy - beautiful, lithe being he was - was not oblivious to his charm.

It was time to unleash those imaginings.


	90. Callous

“You— you will never, _ever_ own me, Bond.” The Quartermaster’s voice was as level as his stare from his prone position on the bed.

“I already do,” Bond replied, sinking his teeth into his hipbone, while the hardened points of his gun hand glided across the skin of the thigh opposite.

Q gasped at the juxtaposition of sensation, arching into the touch, rendered speechless, unable to reciprocate, wrists bound by the leftover wires of a practice bomb he had been constructing earlier that day.

“I own every piece of you, Quartermaster,” Bond whispered, “to dismantle and reconstruct at my leisure…”


	91. TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS!

Q lifted his head from the panel he was soldering and sniffed the air once. Twice. Shaking his head, must be imagining things, he thought to himself.

“OMG! Take off your pants, Q!” shouted R dashing towards him. Q turned towards her with a confused expression at the order and a bemused looking agent 007 trailing behind her.

It was then he realised the burning smell wasn’t his imagination. By the time Bond reached them, he was down to boxers, a smouldering pair of trousers in a heap at his feet.

“Not one for the slow burn, are you Q?”


	92. The Qualities Of A Masochist

Q was no fool.

He may look the prim and proper geek, tangled in wires and as easily lost in lines of code as the lines of a good book.

Beneath the cardigans and thick-rimmed glasses lurked a soul who ached for rough, calloused hands to wrestle him into submission. He yearned to wrap his own body around the sinewed, scarred thighs that belonged to a particular steely-eyed Double O.

Q knew Bond was no fool either.

He watched. He _wanted._ And relished that part of the pleasure derived from the pain in not knowing _when_ he would be taken. 


	93. Ships Pass In The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by some great shots of London by Boffin1710.

Q lingered by Nelson’s Column.

Amidst the bustling crowds he looked like any other Londoner, sipping a coffee on his way home from work.

It was then he spotted the agent with whom he was rendezvousing.

A compact, combative form. A purposeful, confident gait. As far removed from the grand old warship in front of which they had agreed to meet as Q felt out of his depth.

He dropped his coffee cup in a bin, ran a hand through dishevelled locks and took a deep sigh.

Batten down the hatches, he thought to himself as he climbed the steps.


	94. How To Console A Quartermaster

“Trust me, James. I’ve tried everything. He’s not eating, he hasn’t shaved in days…He’s inconsolable.”

“Not everything. Leave it with me, Moneypenny.”

Bond sauntered down to Q Branch. He made a brief stop at Q’s office before making his way to the bullpen to stand in the middle of the room.

“WHAT THE HELL HAS AN AGENT GOT TO DO TO GET AN EXPLODING PEN AROUND HERE?!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

“My office. NOW!” Q roared.

He stomped there with Bond in tow and flung the door open.

“Meow?” And Q’s heart melted, retribution forgotten.


	95. Peddling Goods

“First day, first day, can’t be late, can’t be late.”

Q panted evenly while weaving through the London traffic, careful but fast. One Summer spent as a cycle courier, taking his life into his hands daily, had made him not so much reckless, just a little bit more fearless. He pulled up to a red light, alongside a rather gorgeous Aston Martin, rumbling throatily.

He glanced at the short-haired, blonde driver who was on his mobile. Q tutted.

He pulled away on the amber, beating the flash bastard across the junction. He grinned. MI6 wouldn’t know what hit it.


	96. Quartermaster-in-Waiting

He waited.

His patience never tried, his devotion to the men and women who laid their lives on the line every day never once brought into question.

Some had families, spouses with no idea of their secret identity, the double life of a Double O. Others, had no one.

No one, except the Quartermaster, to whom they could turn. In the spiralling aftermath of a mission - success or failure - he would be there, waiting.

Knowing that because of him, the job though tough, was manageable.

He was bound to Bond. Only in each other could one set the other free.


	97. Intimacy

Bond’s eyes adjusted to the dark, the sliver of light cast into the bedroom rippled across his partner’s back, shifting with the gentle roll and swell of knotted muscle beneath taut pale skin.

Bond closed his eyes, found himself standing amidst the heathery hills surrounding Skyfall, the breeze changing the play of light across the blossom. The smell was heady, intoxicating in its clarity and freshness.

Inhaling deeply, he opened weary, circled eyes, the familiar scent of his Quartermaster drowning his senses. A memory of a long lost home, replaced by the home he had sought his whole life.

Finally.


	98. Odd Couple

James was perusing the morning paper and chomping on his cereal when he felt the soft knock bounce off the back of his head.

He put down his bowl slowly and turned to look down at the floor, eyeing the offending weapon.

Which happened to be a balled up pair of mismatched socks.

He looked up with a smirk at the folded-armed, shirtless and rather irritated looking Quartermaster.

“Stay out of my sock drawer, James,” he huffed, tossing his head back and moving purposefully towards the bedroom.

He scooped up the offending article and followed.

Sometimes odd? Paired perfectly.


	99. When The Cat's Away...

“I really have no idea why I trust you. You’re nothing but trouble, James.”

James indulged in a lopsided grin but kept his eyes on the road, his blindfolded Quartermaster fidgeted in the passenger seat next to him.

He parked up and guided Q up the steps. “Wait here,” he whispered.

Ninety seconds passed before the door opened and James dragged him across the threshold.

“Can I look? Where _are_ we, James?” Only then did he remove the scarf from his face. Q’s eyes widened.

“Is this…?”

“Mallory’s place. Thought we could christen his bed while he’s in Hong Kong…”


	100. Lucky Cardigan

“New cardigan? I think that must be the most eye-watering design yet. Advance warning in future please? I value my eyesight.”

“At your age I imagine you value a lot of things in danger of slipping by the wayside.”

“Someone’s in blistering form,” replied James, strolling around the desk and backing him against his wall. “One might go so far as to guess a Quartermaster got lucky last night.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Q said coolly, relenting to the touch. “A fashion sense that demands immediate disrobing might.”

Bond couldn’t argue with that. He really couldn’t.


	101. Spin The Walther

“Five more minutes, Slackers. Then break is over!”

R grinned at 006, wrapping her fingers around the Walther to spin.

“You really are no fun, Q,” grumped 007, watching the weapon’s muzzle come to rest on him.

“My lucky day,” the agent purred, leaning across the table to kiss a wide-eyed R gently on the lips.

He sat down and spun it again, watched it come to rest in the gap between R and 003, which just so happened to be occupied by Q stood over laptop at the far end of the room.

Bond was on a roll.


	102. Carpet Burn

“Oh for pity’s sake, Bond—; Can’t you just—; Bloody—!”

The burn on his arse cheeks, the rhythmic friction against rough carpet, built synchronously alongside waves of pleasure radiating from his groin, heavy with the pressure of James’ mouth, lips clamped tight while his tongue chased the nerves around his throbbing heat.

The friction, painful at first, Q felt merging with the luxurious smoothness of James’ unbated attentions.

The pain and pleasure collided. Q released a soft sob. Bond grabbed a cushion from the sofa, rolling him onto his front, applying soothing kisses to chaffed skin.

“I missed you,” sighed James.


	103. Faking I.T.

_“Definitely faking.”_

Bond hesitated a split second before downing his martini.

“And how would you know? Being as you're a virgin?” Bond enquired, folding his arms and leaning back on the stool.

Q scoffed in his ear. _“I most assuredly am not. University affords one the opportunity to explore more than ones intellectual potential, 007.”_

“Do tell, Q. What gave her away?” he asked drily. “Bearing in mind of course she practically spilled the information I needed the same moment she orgasmed.”

_“Oh I don’t know,”_ he replied airily. _“Perhaps the tracker she slipped into your champagne glass?”_

Well fuck…


	104. Faking Too

“What tracker?”

_“The one with the signal I hacked and am monitoring now.”_

Bond closed his eyes, leaning his head into a hand. He’d _never_ hear the end of this…

_“The one that tells me you’re in the bar, likely feeling very smug. Until I popped in to say hello that is.”_ Bond could practically hear the grin.

_“Sit tight and do not make contact with the agent until said item... passes through your system. Have another martini, Bond. That should speed things along.”_

Q cut the comms.

Apparently, imagining wringing your Quartermaster’s neck also helped the evening move along.


	105. Taking It

The first thing Q realised? How hot Bond’s hands were pressed upon his back. Branding irons against cool skin. His unerring fingertips sunk mercilessly and melted beneath the flesh, fusing with the nerves threading through his spine and hitting the emotional pleasure centres of his brain like the bluntly powerful tools they were; tools that Q wielded on every mission for England, now on a mission to reduce him to a hot, incoherent mess of need and desire.

The shocked inhale of breath drew Bond’s mouth to his with unerring precision.

“Well. Safe to say you weren’t faking _that_ , Quartermaster.”


	106. Two Men and an Aston

“I thought you were done.”

“I am. I just need one more thing.”

“No.”

Bond looked mildly irritated. “I haven’t said what it is yet.”

Q heaved a sigh. “I know it’s the car as public transport is beneath you, 007. And the answer is still. No,” Q repeated, squaring his shoulders.

Bond stepped closer, now toe-to-toe.

“I could just take it,” his voice edged with a “deny me?” tone.

“Actually no, you couldn’t,” his face slipping into smug confidence. “Unlike you, I learn from my mistakes. And as the Aston is palm-printed to my hand alone…”


	107. One More Thing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end?   
> Maybe.   
> Or maybe,   
> James Bond Will Return.

“Do you even have an inkling of the fate of the last person who denied me, Q?”

“Oh? Someone actually said no to the dashing and devastating Double O Seven? I feel robbed of the privilege of being your first.”

Bond’s eyes turned dangerously dark. Q frowned, fleetingly considered making a run for it, but stood his ground. Bond, never taking his eyes off Q, pulled out his phone. Seconds of silence transpired. Bond hit send.

Madeleine stood outside VX, waiting patiently. Her phone vibrated against her thigh.

_JB: Something’s come up. I’ve called you a cab._

Once a bastard…


	108. Number 10, Lizard Street

Q was frowning over his laptop - his personal laptop - used exclusively for monitoring the Darknet and keeping an eye on the inner machinations of government officials who bore watching.

“There’s something very wrong at Number 10 at the moment, 007.”

“Mmmm?” Bond murmured against his neck, currently plastered against his back doing his best to distract his attentions from the screen.

“I promised myself I’d never… but I just hacked the webcam on Theresa May’s bedroom laptop…”

That halted Bond’s progress instantly. “Do I want to see this?”

“Not unless you want to see a woman shed her outer skin…”


	109. Reflex Action

James pressed a thumb firmly into a particular spot on the sole of Q’s foot.

Q groaned loud enough that even the cat stopped washing himself to see what the fuss was about.

James smiled at the effect said ministrations were having on other parts of the Quartermaster’s person.

“So you’re a reflexologist as well now, are you?” Q griped, half annoyed James had been holding out on him, the rest of his body completely aroused by this latest revelation.

“When called upon to serve Q and Country, I consider myself very flexible, Quartermaster…” James replied, replacing hands with lips.


	110. Tousled

James inhaled long and deep, flooding his lungs with the cool morning air pushing its way past billowing curtains.

He didn’t open his eyes.

Yet.

The London air mingled with the heady, clean scent of dark, pillow-tousled hair. James inhaled again, pushing his face deeper into the inviting softness.

He glanced the flat of a hard palm lightly up Q’s back to run his fingers in a firm, loving caress up through the waves, releasing more of his addictive essence.

“Hey,” mumbled his sleep-ridden bedfellow. “I spent hours on that look…”

“I can fix that,” James breathed invitingly.


	111. Nothing Compares To Q

When the time came, Bond knew where to go.

To find comfort, a different kind of strength; the kind that grounded him back into the world, never failing to remind him why he did what he did; why he took lives to protect those he considered important.

These touches physically reconnecting him with the spiritual; the soul and beating heart of his existence.

You spend your life looking to fill the void. Sometimes with alcohol; sometimes with drugs; sometimes with the rush of adrenaline that comes with placing it all on red or black.

None of it. Compared to this.


	112. Fallout Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite what we latch onto as our differences, I will always maintain we have more in common than sets us apart. :)

“Do NOT lie to me, James! I know you voted Leave in the Referendum. Fucking knobend!”

“Just—“

Q held his hand up and turned his head to one side, an expression of disgust on his face.

“Don’t bother. Your excuses are as interesting to me as a marmite sandwich.”

“Wanker…” he muttered, stalking off towards the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

“You want isolation?” he called as a parting shot. “Enjoy the couch! Made in Sweden, FYI!”


	113. Fallout Part II

“Doesn’t it help that the rest of Scotland voted Remain?”

James’ held his ear against the door, heard the slender flop and accompanying huff as Q hit the mattress.

“Europe, _James_ , is about diversity over all. Diversity is expressed through _individual_ choice. Get it?"

Bond sighed the sigh of a man put upon since… forever.

“I flipped a coin…” he mumbled against the door.

A pause.

The thud of a heavy object - maybe a shoe? - slammed against the door, making him wrench his head away.

The door flung open.

“Flip on this, 007,” Q’s middle finger inches from his face.

 


	114. Fallout Part III

James leaned against the re-slammed bedroom door and slid down until his arse hit the floor.

He sighed, the admission on his lips before he could stay it. “I am an island, Q…”

A heartbeat or two passed, Q’s silence telling James he was listening. Attentive.

“I’ve always been alone. I like being alone. I know who I am when I’m alone…”

“And that’s good? You prefer it that way?” came the muffled question, softly.

“Not always. But it’s less messy. It’s all I know. I’m sorry.”

The door flung open. James fell backwards.

“An apology? Well. There’s a first…”


	115. Fallout Part IV

James never failed to fall victim to the sliver of surprise that rippled through his gut at the ever present lifeline connecting him to his Quartermaster.

Since the Gallery, since Silva, since Skyfall. Since falling into each other’s pain after M’s funeral; finding the common thread binding them inexorably to one another.

The kisses, the touches, the constant forgiveness.

No man was an island, no matter how hard he tried to sever himself from the beautiful cesspit that was humanity.

But from the shit and the dirt, flowers could bloom.

Deadly, bright and beautiful.

From such dirt, a Quartermaster Rose.


	116. The Lourve

The Louvre isn’t overly busy this time of day or year.

Bond clears his throat before taking a seat on the bench next to his Quartermaster.

Q tilts his head a few degrees and gives him the side eye.

“I suppose you think this is funny?” he says.

Bond is smiling but doesn't look at him, gazing as he is at the figure of the Borghese Gladiator.

“Magnificent isn’t it?” Bond sighs. “The power, the vigour, the masculinity. What do you see?”

Q turns his head fully to him then. “A bloody big cock,” he grouses, handing him his equipment.


	117. Mission: Q

“Would you be terribly annoyed if I never let you leave this bed?”

Q rolled onto his side to look at James, who was lying on his back looking the ceiling. “I am open to further negotiation on the subject.”

“Think of the service you’d be doing to peace and diplomacy between nations, not to mention the hundreds of thousands saved in Q Branch equipment were I… kept off the streets and very much occupied with alternative… missions…”

Q chuckled. “Not sure I could slip that one past Mallory. But do feel free to probe me for additional intelligence, 007…”


	118. How Do You Like Your Eggs?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weekend luxuriating, 00Q style. Thanks for the prompt, JJB. :)

“You leave me a shell of my former self, Quartermaster. Incredible.”

“I should think so, Bond,” Q replied, peeling himself off James’ slick chest.

“Don’t suppose…”

“Stay? Agent discretion,” Q said with a flippant wave of his hand, while catching a breath.

“However…” Q said on the intake.

“Yes?”

“As you did me the favour of scrambling my brain? I think scrambling some eggs is a fair quid pro quo, James.”

“And coffee? Coffee would be nice,” Bond’s muffled voice, half buried in his pillow, eyes crinkled with cheeky expectation, sounded equally hopeful and dismissive.

“Don’t push your luck, 007…”


	119. Tongue-Tied

James fumbled with his tie in front of the hallway mirror.

Somehow, he’d forgotten how to tie a knot.

Actually somehow nothing. He’d finally gotten what he’d been pursuing for months - the shy, slender, mindblowing genius he’d just left in bed…

For Christ’s sake!! It’s as though the finger fairy came in the night and replaced his digits with thumbs.

“Let me…”

Bond caught Q’s very naked form in the reflection as he stepped behind the impeccably suited agent.

James could only watch the deftly confident hands dance around his collar.

Q stepped back towards the bedroom.

“Safe trip, James…”


	120. Untied

The raven-haired fireball that turned out to be more than useful in his quest for intelligence watched with a seductive but wary expression as Bond approached the hotel bed.

He had shirked off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the cuffs, reaching for the knot in his tie before pausing in his advances and stilling his fingers around the semi-loosened knot.

“Something the matter, James?” she asked, a querying brow raised.

Bond smiled, but rather than undo the knot completely, loosened it a little more and pulled it over his head, draping it atop his jacket.

“Not a thing…”


	121. Tied Down

Q lay face down on the bed, spread long, legs wide, while Bond, only hours returned from Belarus, did the most amazing things to his arse to which Greek poets couldn’t lend worthy verse.

But while the pleasure was achingly good, Q couldn’t take his eyes of the necktie currently binding his wrists. Scarlet in colour, silk. Decadent. Like its owner.

What really caught his attention was the knot. The one he had made two days previously. Somehow, for some bizarre reason known only to him, Bond had preserved Q’s handiwork.

Bond grunted. Hard. Q thought no more about it.


	122. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For http://castillon02.tumblr.com/

It is not a thing with which I am very familiar.  
  
Maybe that’s the reason why. With him… with Bond… it’s so intensely intimate. I feel my throat close, my pulse elevate, blood pumps so hard and the pressure rushes with such breakneck speed to my head, I am made momentarily deaf.  
  
“… do anything?”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
“The watch. Does it do anything?”  
  
“Oh. Um. Yes. It tells the time.”  
  
_Idiot_.  
  
He looks at me. We never exchange meaningful words. I can absolutely feel the physicality of his gaze glancing across my cheek.  
  
I really, really hate him.  
  
But I don’t.


	123. The Quartermaster Initiation (I)

Bond walked into the MI6 local just as Q was knocking back his fourth tequila in quick succession, surrounded by several department minions.

“This is abuse of your superior officer, you know.”

“It’s an established ritual initiation for the new Quartermaster,” said R. “Seven tequilas…” she caught sight of Bond from the corner of her eye, sidling up to the bar and within earshot, “then walking the length of Vauxhall Bridge. Fall into the river? Well, it wasn’t meant to be…”

Q shook his head, weaving on his stool as he did.

“He’ll be doing no such thing,” growled Bond.


	124. The Quartermaster Initiation (II)

R turned.

“This,” she said pointedly, “is a private party, Mr Bond. Branch staffers only, in which department I believe you are sorely unqualified.”

Bond bristled slightly. He really wasn’t sure about these young, mouthy boffins. He never thought he’d admit it, even to himself, but he kind of missed the old world of Major Boothroyd.

“This is reckless…”

“Andyou’dknowallabout _that,_ wouldn’tyouMrBlond?” Q interjecting himself into the exchange, drunkenly jabbed a finger in Bond’s direction.

As a first encounter with the new head of Q Branch, this wasn’t going at all as expected.

Unprepared? Maybe. But Bond loved a challenge.


	125. The Quartermaster Initiation (III)

Bond moved to stand behind him, lolling about in his stool, leaning back with an oblivious sigh against the agent’s chest.

Bond took the initiative. He pivoted the young boffin to face him and hoisted him over his shoulder.

“I say, Bond!” said R, with a degree of incredulity. Bond simply raised a finger in her face, accompanied with a hard “no arguments” momentary stare. The floppy Quartermaster didn’t even put up a fight.

He pushed out the door to grab a taxi.

The team raised their glasses to the second-in-command. “Well played, R!”

She took a bow.


	126. The Quartermaster Initiation (IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk!Q IS adorable. :)

Bond poured him into a nearby taxi and climbed in after him.

“Address, Q?”

Q rolled his head and squinted through unfocused eyes at Bond.

“A dress? ’M notwearinga dress. Though I _do_ look quite good in silky panties… Hick! Where I am?”

“Give me a second,” Bond mumbled at the bemused driver. He frowned impatiently, while manhandling Q against the seat. He began searching his inside pockets for a wallet.

Q tried - unsuccessfully - to bat away his hands for a few seconds before flopping back.

“Hick! Whyyourhandssobig? Ur you - hick! - Giant?”

Bond ignored him, eyeing his licence. “Bayswater.”


	127. The Quartermaster Initiation (V)

Bond paid the driver and pulled an almost comatose Q out of the taxi and against his body.

“Mmmm. Yousmellsnice…” Q muttered against his shoulder. “What’s your name ‘gain?”

“Seeing as you’ll have forgotten this fiasco by morning…”

Q frowned, fumbling with his glasses. “But you took me home? You don’t want to see my panty collection?” he giggled adorably.

Bond was losing the will to live. “Another time maybe…” Glancing up, he saw the CCTV in the alcove tracking their movements.

“Awww,” Q groused, Bond dragging them both through the door of the MI6-registered apartments and kicking it shut.


	128. The Forger of Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt courtesy of http://a-forger-and-a-point-man.tumblr.com/ who wanted James and Alex in the field with a bit of friendly agent competition to see who gets their licence to kill first thrown in and the winner gets to take Q to dinner? Lingerie will make an appearance.
> 
> This will be a longer story but putting this here to remind me!

“I suppose you think you can beat me, old man?” Alex said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. “I think perhaps youth beats experience when it comes to the Physical.”

Bond pulled on the MI6-issue sweater and bent down to do up his shoelaces. He took his time, before standing to face the younger agent. Alex met his nonplussed gaze. Youth - by ten years - may have been on his side, but old dogs in this game had well-honed teeth and a taste for blood.

Bond simply stepped gallantly to the side.

“You’re welcome to a head-start.”


	129. The Quartermaster Initiation (VI)

“Is my bed? Doesn’t look like my bed,” Q slurred through a combination of a groan and a yawn, dislodging his cat when he fell face down on the mattress.

“Prob’ly been while since you seen it. Given work demands,” Bond mumbled, bending over to pull off his shoes.

“I like my office futon. Feels like home…” He rolled onto his back as Bond attacked the second shoe. “Where’s you live... manperson?”

“Not far. Sleep well, Q.”

“Help with m' trousers, please? Hate waking up in clothes.”

Bond sighed and turned back. What greeted him, made his mouth go dry.


	130. The Quartermaster Initiation (VII)

In the nature of James Bond’s work, one experienced one’s fair share of interesting moments. Usually, those moments rolled together, his life lived - frequently on a knife edge - too fast, too furious to compartmentalise every one.

That way madness lies.

What lay on the bed in front of him now, may well lead him to the madness he had thus far avoided. In the guise of open trousers, revealing smooth, creamy skin and a smattering of dark hair disappearing into blue-lace trimmed silk panties.

Bond took a deep breath and retreated from the space, already filling with soft snores.


	131. A Trivial Pursuit

“In the event of being forced to make a choice, 007, Queen or Country?”

“I don’t see the two as being mutually exclusive.”

Q waved his hand. “It’s a fictional scenario of my design. Choose.”

Bond sipped his tea thoughtfully, while Q massaged his socked feet and Alan attempted to make himself comfortable somewhere on his sofa-stretched person.

“Where are you in this fictional scenario?” he enquired.

Q huffed. “Stop evading the question.”

“I’m not. My answer depends on your location. Tea with the Queen? Or picnic in the country?”

Q smiled and kissed his ankle. “Correct answer, James.”


	132. Don't Say It

“Don’t. Please.  _Jammmeess._ ”

James hips stuttered still.

“Please don’t say it.”

Bond took a deep breath. “I wasn’t…”

“You were,” Q replied resolutely, hazel eyes dark with lust, bright with passion and unfettered in adoration.

Bond frowned and pushed his hips forward into the Quartermaster, a fresh determination washing over him to scramble the genius’s brain.

“ _Yeeesssss…”_ Q moaned, the delicious distraction determinedly hurdling them towards mutual orgasm.

The words were floating at the front of Bond’s mind, bitten back behind grinding teeth as the pleasure washed up, up, up and over his back. A sensual wave.

“I…”

“I know…”


	133. Breakfast of Boffins

Bond kept his eyes glued to the contents of the newspaper in front of him, though a well-honed peripheral vision allowed him to observe the Quartermaster. He kept silent but aware, fascinated by the sight of a genius who could juggle three agents in mission mode at three different locations, presently perplexed by the reaction of scrambled eggs with the application of heat.

But Bond was Bond and always would be.

“How’s that breakfast coming along Q?”

Q huffed a defeated sigh. “You know that thing we do…”

“…they serve breakfast in the hotel across the road. You’re buying.”


	134. Rush Hour Crush I

Anonymity. A spy’s greatest weapon against foreign threats. Unless of course you’re James bloody Bond, then for some reason, you are at liberty to waltz around the world telling every Tom, Dick and Granny your real name.

Q sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his head forward to almost lean against the tube train door. It was rush hour. In London. His body clock was all out of sync and he needed some sleep. In his own bed.

It had been an intense day.

And he certainly _wasn’t_ in the mood for the oversized, suited bastard breathing down his neck…


	135. Rush Hour Crush II

Confrontation wasn’t an option. It wasn’t very British. But then, nor was lurching forward into Q with a little more force than necessary at the jolt of the train.

“Do you mind?” Q mumbled.

Engaging in conversation was obviously a mistake.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he attempted seductively. Q quickly calculated that getting off at the next stop was surely the most prudent course of action, hoping vainly he wouldn’t pass out from the overwhelmingly alcoholic smell of cologne.

Q didn’t turn around as he felt a body shuffle between them and another more familiar smell hit his nostrils…


	136. Rush Hour Crush III

“Excuse me. My stop.”

Q remained resolutely facing the door and did not turn to acknowledge the familiar baritone.

_What the fuck was Bond doing on the London fucking tube?_

Q was holding his breath for several seconds before he realised he was doing it. Bond took a step closer, brushing his chest lightly against Q’s shoulder just as the train began to slow on its approach.

Q placed a hand against the door. The vibration of the glass distracting him from the charge he felt around him.

_Christ, this was so unfair._

The train came to a grinding halt.


	137. Rush Hour Crush IV

Q disembarked, aware he was being followed, not only by Bond, but by his other close encounter.

He kept his steady footfall amongst the now thinning crowd heading for the escalator.

“You look like you could use a—! Ooooff! Bloody—!”

Those stumbling words from his unwanted stalker caused Q to turn and witness Bond stepping across the man, barely having the time to realise that the agent had been the cause of his embarrassing stumble and fall. He was aware of a strong hand take his elbow and guide him onto the steps rising from the underbelly of London’s gut.


	138. Rush Hour Crush V

He released the flustered boffin, still remaining silent, too many eyes around them to engage.

They were strangers in the real world. Like anonymity, another weapon not to be taken for granted.

Bond fell back a few feet, giving the Quartermaster some space.

Q relaxed a little, exiting through the barrier and heading up to street level. He crossed the street and entered a pub. He ordered two drinks - a martini and a gin and tonic - and took them to a nearby booth.

He removed his parka, sat down with a deep breath and waited.

55 seconds later, Bond appeared.


	139. Rush Hour Crush VI

He slid into the booth opposite, unbuttoning his suit jacket in the same move.

Their eyes didn’t meet.

Bond scooped the glass up with infuriating casualness and sipping the cool liquid, he closed his eyes slowly, taking a moment to savour the liquid before leaning back against the seat.

Still Q waited. He didn’t know why they were here. Why Bond had followed him. Bond had gone dark shortly after the end of the mission after jeopardising his own safety earlier that day.

Regardless, he didn’t owe Q anything. He did what he believed necessary to get the job done.


	140. Rush Hour Crush VII

“I’m sorry.”

Q’s drink hadn’t even passed his lips. Bond had only sipped his once so it certainly wasn’t the alcohol talking.

Still, Q was a stickler for double-checking the quality of his own and everyone else’s work and words. It’s what made him as shit hot as he was at his own job.

“Excuse me?”

Bond knocked back the rest of his drink in one hit and stood up, looking down with a steel cool gaze. Q met the look head on.

“I do not do repeat performances, Quartermaster,” he replied, turning to take his leave, “for anyone.”


	141. Rush Hour Crush VIII

Q sat dumbstruck for all of ten seconds before he realised what had happened.

A breakthrough. A mutual understanding in the dynamic of a floundering relationship reached without either man realising it was needed.

Until one of them did. Arguably the brighter of the two, but that was a discussion for another space and time.

But this, this space and time was a small window of opportunity upon which could be acted. Caution needed to be thrown to the wind.

Right now.

Q downed his own drink in three gulps, grabbed his jacket and followed the agent onto the street.


	142. Rush Hour Crush IX

Q pushed his way through the door. Bond was climbing into a taxi a little way’s down the street.

It was at this point that Q not only threw caution but himself to the wind, moving swiftly to block the black cab just as it moved to pull away from the kerb.

The driver cursed. Ignoring him, he rounded the car and climbed in, into unknown territory.

Bond’s look was questioning but impassive.

“Take me home. Now. Show me how sorry you really are, and never ever disobey a direct order from your Quartermaster again and I _might_ forgive you.”


	143. Rush Hour Crush X

In truth, they were strangers. On a train. On comms. In the corridors of MI6. For their own safety, for the safety of their country and its secrets, this is what they had to be to each other.

But for one glorious, sheet-tangled, skin-bruised night, when Q welcomed that stranger into his bed and let him crush him into the mattress, break his body into a thousand screaming pieces of passion, held together by shimmering threads of pure unbridled lust, those strangers bound themselves to each other.

And in every exchange after, that crush would remain their secret.


	144. Binary I

Zero.

To the logician, it is a number fulfilling a central role in maths as the  additive identity of numbers. 

To the creative, it is a line with no beginning and no end. Hollow, empty, in 3 dimensions a hole into which one could endlessly fall.

To the philosopher, it means nothing.

Tothe Quartermaster of MI6, it is the first of a double prefix to a number assigned to a man whose own beginnings are a mystery and whose end remains undetermined by the gods.

To the Quartermaster of MI6, the number means everything.

And Seven is the one.


	145. Binary II

In his head, under his skin, behind his eyes.

At night, alone, Q’s mind was filled with raw data, zeros and noughts, flooding his system. His waking dreams and subconscious thought constantly at work.

But in that space between awareness and REM, the code would take a specific, familiar shape. A face, his face would swim into his mind. Rough skin masking a gentle touch would glide down his chest, across his stomach and come to rest in silent possession at the small of his back.

Q would wake then, hot, breathless and painfully aroused, just before their lips met.


	146. Binary III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To decode this snippet, go here. http://www.unit-conversion.info/texttools/convert-text-to-binary/
> 
> Binary is amazing.

00100010 01010111 01100001 01101001 01110100 00101110 00100000 01000010 01101111 01101110 01100100 00101110 00100010 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 00100010 01001110 01101111 00101110 00100000 01001001 00100111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01110111 01100001 01101001 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100101 01101110 01101111 01110101 01100111 01101000 00101110 00100010 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 01000001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01110101 01101101 01100010 01100101 01110010 01110011 00100000 01110011 01110101 01100100 01100100 01100101 01101110 01101100 01111001 00100000 01101101 01100001 01100100 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100101 01101110 01110011 01100101 00101110 00100000 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 01000011 01101111 01100001 01101100 01100101 01110011 01100011 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 00101110 00100000 00001101 00001010 00001101 00001010 01001001 01101110 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101011 01101001 01110011 01110011 00101110


	147. One Day Like This

“You do realise I don’t like surprises? In fact, after a year living together, it surprises me you don’t.”

“Has it really been a year?” Q rolled his eyes and thrust the blindfold at him. “Don’t be such a drama queen, Bond. Indulge me.”

Bond complied and Q guided him through their converted loft apartment. 

“Stand there.”

A few moments of rustling later, Q spoke. “Right. You may look.”

Bond ripped off the silk tie and wasted no time in joining the boffin.

“New bed?” he growled approvingly. “Don’t suppose it’s weaponised?” 

“Only when you're in it,” Q laughed brightly.


	148. Inspecting Gadgets

“….And if you press once here and here, the mechanism unlocks and…”

Q paused to turn round, expecting to find Bond watching his demo.

But of course, he wasn’t.

Q tipped his head back and exhaled a sigh. He put down the gadget, pivoting to locate and bring the rogue agent to heel.

Naturally, he found him poking around where he shouldn’t.

Q’s workbench.

“For pity’s sake 007! Put that—!”

Too late, the wallet, well, the taser shaped like a wallet, went off in the direction of one Chief of Staff, who was on his back in a second.

“—down…”


	149. He Who Dares, Swims I

“He won’t come.”

“You underestimate Moneypenny’s powers of persuasion, James.”

Bond scoffed. “I’d never be so foolish. I value my testicles. Still attached to my body, thanks very much,” he replied between sips of his martini. “The mere idea of the Quartermaster or any of the minions for that matter mingling amongst the Double Ohs at a pool party is about as realistic as a fawn wandering into a den of wolves and…” Bond trailed off.

Alec was grinning at the perplexed expression, as he looked over his shoulder at the newcomers.

The Russian didn’t have to look. “Told you.”


	150. He Who Dares, Swims II

“Q!”

Instinctively his reflexes kicked in and he turned at the sound of his moniker. To be met with a pair of swimming trucks hitting him square in the face.

The casually sauntering chiselled outline of Alec Trevelyn followed close behind.

Q dropped the swimwear with a glance of disdain and removed his glasses to defog them. From the heat of the pool. Obviously. He didn’t spare Alec a glance as he spoke.

“I am here under duress, if you must know, Agent, and for your information, I don’t—“

“Q!” shouted Eve from poolside. “Get that gorgeous arse in here!”

"Swim..."


	151. He Who Dares, Swims III

Alec raised an eyebrow. “You surprise me,  Kvartirmeyster.” He paused to give Q an entirely appraising look. Q felt his innards squirm.

“A body like yours was surely made for water.”

Despite his outward stalwartness, Q felt himself blush. So naturally, that was when Bond appeared, with two drinks from the minibar for himself and Eve. “Is this man bothering you, Q? Because I’d be happy to…”

“Oh fine!” Q huffed, bending over to scoop up the trunks and stomping off. Because a man can only take the sight of so much bare-chested agent before he finally breaks.


	152. He Who Dares, Swims IV

Q floated alone in the jacuzzi, eyes mostly closed but occasionally fluttering open to check the whereabouts of his chaperone, Moneypenny, who was currently being grilled by 003.

Trevelyan and Bond were keeping entertained by making cocktails in between making cocks of themselves and showing off with fancy diving exploits and trying to drown each other, for which Q was extremely grateful.

He was drifting off to a place of mindful solitude, one he hadn’t visited at least since he assumed the position of Quartermaster, when he distantly registered another presence materialise opposite.

_PleasebeEvePleasebeEvePleasebeEve,_ he mantra-ed silently.

It wasn’t.


	153. He Who Dares, Swims V

Three martinis later, he knew this was a mistake. But he was feeling bold. He never got to be reckless anymore. As he stood poised on the pool edge, flanked either side by Trevelyan and Bond, he realised these were people he could trust.

People with whom he might actually fall in love. He was halfway there with Eve.

His heart was a traitorous bastard.

“You two do realise to what you’ve agreed, don’t you?”

“Free takeaway delivered to your desk for every piece of equipment we don’t bring back?”

“Eat my wake, boys!” shouted Alec, pushing into a dive.


	154. He Who Dares Swims VI

_Two months later_

The proximity alarm sounded on his laptop.

Q flicked on the feed, smiling at the sight of the agents stood outside his building, wrapped against the cold.

He went to the door and opened the intercom. “The agreement was, delivered to my desk, not my home.”

“And it’ll be delivered cold if you don’t let us in, Q,” grumbled Bond into the speaker.

Q granted entry and retreated to his living room, standing poised on the Persian rug, fisting his toes into the fabric to centre himself.

He vaguely wondered if the anticipation would always be there.


	155. He Who Dares, Swims VII

“You won the toss. You first, Alec,” sighed Bond. “I’ll put the food in—“

“You tossed a coin?!” Q’s incredulousness only adding to the adorable he perpetually sported.

Alec was unbuttoning his jacket on his approach, looking at Q like a starved wolf.

“And don’t I get a say in any of this?”

“No,” he growled hungrily.

Q was incapable of arguing against the feel of five-day stubble against his neck and strong large hands grabbing the backs of his thighs to scoop him up and manhandle him onto the sofa.

“Little fucking genius…” he mouthed against his jaw.


	156. He Who Dares, Swims VIII

“We’d be dead a dozen times over if it weren’t for you,” Alec grumbled affectionately while deftly undoing his belt and pulling down those ridiculous corduroys he always wore on a Thursday.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Q replied, helping proceedings along by undoing his cardigan. “I was sorely tempted to let you burn in the fire _you started,_ you stupid bastard.”

“I don’t think I would have been so forgiving.” Bond’s silken tones drifting into the room from the doorway to the kitchen. “You demonstrated incredible restraint, Q.” 

“Something we can’t accuse you of,” Q’s voice cracking beneath Alec’s touch.


	157. He Who Dares, Swims IX

“I’m showing a fair bit now.”

Q opened his eyes to shoot Bond a glare and something about preferring he’d showed said restraint while on the mission but found himself releasing a laugh when he realised Bond wasn’t talking about restraint.

Alec glanced over his shoulder at Bond, his hand wrapped around the arousal jutting unashamedly from his pants.

“Wait your turn, James,” he said with a teasing warning in his voice. “I don’t want to have to tie you up.” 

He turned his attention back to the gorgeous thing writhing beneath him in an effort to disrobe himself completely.


	158. He Who Dares, Swims X

Having rolled off the sofa, Alec now lay flat on the soft rug, still fully clothed, with a very naked, very aroused Quartermaster, doing his duty for the service by welcoming him home in blistering fashion.

Bond loved watching them like this. A voyeur of living art. The lines of Alec’s light brown torso flexing responsively to the smooth rippling curve of Q’s back; his pale delicate chest almost emitting an ethereal glow when set against Alec’s hands; the slant of his neck, tipping long in answer to Alec’s fingers gliding up and into his hair to pull him down…


	159. He Who Dares, Swims XI

Bond smiled at the strangled cry wrenched from Alec when he came. He’d talked at length on the flight to London about what he was going to do to the man when they got home.

Q, however, was deftly skilled at taking control, in the field and no less in their sexual encounters. He was staring at Bond challengingly, breathless and still hard while Alec revelled in the aftershocks of their encounter. Bond strolled forward and grabbed him, tossing him roughly on the couch, his own arousal, anger and demanding.

So Q was most surprised when he took unexpected action…


	160. Lion's Den

The beast prowled around the living room.

He wasn’t caged though he felt so. Release for someone like him, could only mean hurt and pain for others.

The sound of a key slipping into a lock heightened his already frayed senses. He crouched in the moonlight by the door in the hallway. The roar in the pit of his belly poised to pounce.

The shape that passed his coiled form, calm and confident, crouched beside him, extended his arm and patiently, silently waited.

The beast’s wariness was brief, before closing his eyes and nuzzling the offered hand.

“007. I’m here.”


	161. Restraint

He’d wanted this for so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like to want anything else.

The leather binding his wrists was soft but strong against his skin.

Q had made sure of that. There would be no pain.

Only pleasure.

He stood above the agent, feet planted on the mattress, either side of Bond’s hips.

Bond was in no position to do anything else but worship him.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Q whispered.

“I’m yours like this,” he replied, crystal blue gaze soft in the semi-dark, inviting him down.

“My favourite weapon.”

“The only one you’ll ever need.”


	162. (Don't) Die Another Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 Token Words for Sir Roger. RIP.

Q was beside himself. Bond did his best to console him.

“You know he’s not dead right? I mean truly gone?”

“Of course he is!” Q all but shouted, pushing James away in an effort to make those empty words disappear. “I hacked the Swiss coroner’s report myself, James. He’s—he’s gone… Bloody cancer!”

Bond pulled him closer. “His physical presence yes, but he lives on and on and on…”

Q fought through his sadness to embrace the reality of the words whispered through the lips resting affectionately against his temple.

“This Spy Who Loves You? Lives More Than Twice…”


	163. Bend, Do Not Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For London, 3rd June 2017. 
> 
> You Are Everything.

There are times, when the feelings of loss are so unbearable, so overwhelming, you wonder if it would be acceptable to bury them alongside the casket of the woman who had become more than a mother in your hour of need.

You stay to watch earth tossed upon the Union Jack draped across her final resting place, and wonder for a moment what fate awaits you.

You look to the sky when a droplet of rain lands on your shoulder.

It is then you notice the Double O standing opposite, lost in his own thoughts.

And realise, you’re not alone.


	164. Pulse

Bond understood the mechanics of evolution and how we got here. He also knew the most vulnerable points on the human body with unquestioned accuracy; a well-aimed kick to the shin or knee; a punch from the shoulder to the kidneys; a finger-targeted jab to the throat.

The throat he watched now, entranced, illuminated by light from the streetlamp outside was silently demanding his attention; vulnerable in more ways than one, he thought to himself, tipping forward to place warm lips on the pulsing vein.

There were many tools for capitalising on his Quartermaster’s vulnerabilities in Bond’s arsenal.


	165. Blood and Lace

It was hot, the city air stifling in its closeness, a suffocating curtain pressing on his body.

The window was wide open. Q was restless, disorientated by heat and dreams of an agent falling into endless darkness.

The shadow cast briefly across his exposed skin by the silhouette climbing through the window went unnoticed.

Bond loomed at the bottom of the bed, noting with intense satisfaction his Quartermaster was wearing the cream lace underwear he’d bought him before they parted for the mission.

He reached out to touch, the gash on his hand springing fresh blood, seeped into the material.


	166. Squash

Bond was sweating like a donkey.

“When did you get so good at this?” he panted.

Q was all fluid and grace in his movements across the court, hitting the ball with unerring accuracy time and time again, forcing Bond to contort himself in all manner of shapes in an effort to keep up with the boy.

He lost his patience. _Fuck this,_ he thought to himself, crashing into Q forcing them to tumble in a tangle of limbs on the squash court floor.

A sharp breath. Pupils dilated.

Bond smiled knowingly. “But perhaps I’ve won this round,” he whispered.


	167. "Talk To Me, Quartermaster..."

“Talk to me, Quartermaster.”

But Q was incapable of speech.

He couldn’t begin to put thought behind the headspace which he was currently occupying, never mind words.

Bond shifted his hips, sending a rippling shudder up Q’s back, blossoming out into a wave of goosebumps across his shoulder blades and neck.

He gasped.

Bond shifted again, his thumb glancing across the sensitive head.

Q felt his spine melt, tipping forward into the bare-chested agent beneath him.

_“Stop, James. Oh God, please. Stop…”_

Bond complied. But that only intensified the sensation.

The walls pulsed.

Bond grunted.

And Q’s heart stilled.


	168. Hesitation

R was the first - and only member of Q Branch - to notice.

It was a surprise to say the least.

Bond… Hesitant? The man was the epitome of suave self-assurance.

And even though it was the smallest and nondescript moment - the slight pause on entering the bullpen of the bunker and brief but telling linger of a look trained on the back of her Quartermaster?

It was enough to tell R all she needed to know.

“Can I help you, 007?” she asked on her approach, a sly smile on her face. “Or are we way passed that now?”


	169. On Probation

Bond slammed the door viciously.

“Probation?! You put me on fucking PROBATION?!”

He marched into the living room. Alan sat perched on the sofa’s arm, disinterested.

“I know you’re here!” He moved to the next door down the hallway. “Locking yourself in the bathroom won’t save you from the thrashing you’re going to get, you sh—!”

Empty.

Bedroom then. Good. Bond could be comfortable while he spanked his arse.

His thunderous features flipped to confusion when greeted by the sight spread out on the mattress.

“Isn’t there anything I can do to make it up to you?” Q said seductively.


	170. Ship Wrecked

“I am going to wreck you, Q.”

“Like you did that boat you were assigned?”

“Haven’t you forgiven me for that?”

“Forgiveness has nothing to do with it. Filling the hole you created in my annual budget is the issue.”

His sentence ended on a guttural moan, wrenched from the pit of stomach, followed by an exchange of breath when Bond bore an eager mouth down upon his. The agent moved in a smooth, uninterrupted wave, mapping responding zones on the body beneath.

“I’m happy to be able to provide a temporary plug to your… budgetary needs in the meantime..."


	171. Something Old, Something New

“What’s that?”

“It’s a book. Or did you drop some of your IQ down that elevator shaft yesterday along with my gun, 007?”

Bond rolled his eyes. “A little… traditional for someone of your sensibilities I’d have thought?”

Q closed the book and removed the barrier of his glasses to train his eyes on Bond.

“Simply because I have chosen to embrace the digital era vigorously does not negate the traditional sensibilities with which I was raised, you know.”

He paused, allowing himself a cheeky smile.

“How the blazes do you think you and I ended up in bed together?”


	172. Guns 'n' Roses

It was November. It always rained in November.

Regardless, Q did not let that deter him from visiting the cemetery as he had done for the past three years.

He laid the wreath of white roses on the grave. He wondered about a different timeline, a universe where Skyfall hadn’t happened, a universe where people whom he had grown to care for, love even, were still here; the shape of person he himself might now be.

He sighed. The rain continued to pelt his umbrella.

An unmistakable presence shifted behind him.

“Ready, Q?”

“Yes. Thank you for indulging me, 007…”


	173. Trigger

Each finger wrapped around his arousal one by one. Every move a slow, careful request.

The pinky at the base, lost in reddish blond curls; the ring finger, its pad coming to rest on the vein on the underside (Bond could swear he could feel the ridges of its fingerprint against oversensitive skin); the middle finger, which only hours before Q had angrily gestured at him for losing yet another piece of equipment; but it was the slide of his index finger that shattered the agent. The trigger callous glancing the lip of his own loaded weapon.

Discharge and surrender.


	174. Ice Qubed

“Is there anything more definably worse than a heatwave in London, Alan? I think not.”

Q was splayed face down on his bed, looking at his furry owner, similarly positioned, legs akimbo in a vain attempt to dissipate body heat.

He was barely aware of the soft-footed agent skulking into the bedroom before he felt the wet, ice-cold sensation dive between his arse cheeks.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

But Bond’s equally cool hand landed between his shoulder blades, minimising the shocked momentary thrashing of the young boffin.

Q relaxed and sighed. “Of all my inventions, James, you’re the best…”


	175. Weapon's Test

Q tested the weight in his hand, adjusting his grip. The surface was smooth and warm to the touch. Solid, heavy, reassuringly weighted against his slender fingers.

He cocked it, the mechanism responding smoothly to his touch.

“Mmmm… Always so thorough, Quartermaster.”

“Your mind’s in the gutter 007…”

“At least from that angle I’ve got a lovely view of your arse.”

Q turned to cast an unimpressed look on his intruder.

“Don’t you have some countries to blow up? A few governments to topple?”

There was something he did indeed want to blow.

And Bond always got what he wanted.


	176. Self Defense

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer one of the Double Os?”

Q shifted his defensive pose and dropped his shoulders, arms and jaw simultaneously. “You must be joking, Moneypenny.”

“I don’t trust them with Q Branch tech. You think I’m going to trust them not to break the Head of its department?”

He crouched at the knee again, relaxed and pliant. “Now come on, woman. Have at me.”

“OK then. You asked for it.”

Moneypenny didn’t hold back, flipping him over and winding him before pinning him with her body weight.

“Room for one more?”

Bond.

Fucking opportunist, thought Q.


	177. Healing Touch

The mission? A disaster.

Bond would have no choice but go to Medical.

But not before he tore the Quartermaster a new one for a glitchy earpiece. He hobbled towards his office, knocked once and stormed in.

Q immediately stood, concern lacing his features.

“You’re injured,” he said, circling his desk and immediately dropping to his knees to roll up Bond’s trouser leg to check the wound.

Bond - for once in his life - was momentarily speechless.

His angry diatribe driven from his mind by the sight of the wide-eyed boffin looking up at him.

He could work with this…


	178. Healing Touch II

“And? What are you planning on doing about it?”

Q knew he’d fucked up. He was also more than aware that Bond had been eyeing him up for months.

He could work with that…

He rose smoothly and took hold of his wrist, pulling him towards his desk. He traded positions, pushing Bond back to perch on its edge, taking the pressure off his leg but never taking his eyes from the agent’s.

“I can take your mind off the pain,” he said, trailing his fingers down his shirt, stilling on his crotch.

Bond’s grip on the desk edge tightened.


	179. Healing Touch III

Were he completely honest with himself, Bond would admit that he had fantasised more than was healthy even for him, about his Quartermaster’s hands.

He’d often watched him on a laptop, engrossed in work, awaiting his attention to assign him his mission tools; fingers long, strong and slender; obviously as well used to a balance of manual construction as they were to the delicate requirements of his computer-based existence.

Bond had imagined the pleasure with the same clarity as the destruction those hands could bring…

And while those fingers worked him free of his trousers, he wondered no more.


	180. Healing Touch IV

“Let me take care of you…”

Bond wasn’t about to argue with that proposal. Sometimes, he was actually good at following orders.

Q took a step back to admire the partially undone shirt and slowly engorging erection.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Bond growled.

Q raised an eyebrow. “Quid pro quo, 007. You don’t think I know you’ve been ogling me for months?”

Bond wisely held his tongue, waiting.

Q stepped towards him a moment later and nudged him forward with a hip, sliding between him and the desk to sit behind him.

His fingers found their target.


	181. Healing Touch V

The pain in his knee was soon forgotten, eased by the gentle beginnings of endorphin release.

Q’s ministrations were reduced to three points; the lips on the nape of his neck triggering the overwhelming wave of pleasure that travelled to the small of his back in which Q’s own erection nestled there, firm but patiently undemanding.

And connecting those two sensations Q’s hand; pressure strong on the upstroke, gentle and relaxed on the downstroke; the rhythm made Bond feel as though he was the one completely in control, Q’s impeccable response to the quickening of his breath an utter delight.


	182. Healing Touch VII

Bond did his best to bite back his grunts.

Q was masterful.

“I’m glad I can’t see your face right now,” he whispered against his collar. “Just imagining you lost in your pleasure, pleasure that I’m giving you…”

“Consid— consider yourself for— forgive—“ Bond couldn’t finish the sentence, his arm buckling, his brain exploding in a cacophony of orgasmic release; one of Q’s hands pulling him back to rest against his own torso, his unrelenting touch easing the agent back to reality.

Q removed his hand to grab the tissues on his desk, cleaning them both while Bond’s breath levelled.


	183. Healing Touch VIII

Bond composed himself, tucking himself back into his suit before turning to face the instrument of his pleasure.

Q was a model of composure, leaning back on his hands, legs now casually crossed, tracking the agent’s movements, cataloguing the undoing of the man for which he was solely responsible. He was looking rather smug. Which frankly Bond considered was his area of expertise.

He couldn’t have that.

Bond stepped forward into his space and made to pull him forward with the intention of kissing the living daylights out of the man.

Q immediately raised his hand to Bond’s lips.

“No.”


	184. Healing Touch XI

“No?”

Q was still smirking. Bond’s ire was rising.

“No,” he repeated with quiet emphasis, a hand landing on his chest to push Bond away and rise to his feet. “You say the word with all the disdain of a child denied an ice-lolly, 007. Don’t spoil the moment with petulance.”

“Pardon me,” he said sarcastically. “My intention was to enhance the moment.”

“No need,” Q replied lightly, returning to his chair. “I’m done with you. Off to Medical with you.”

Bond wasn’t sure what was happening, but one thing he did know, he definitely wasn’t done with Q.


	185. Selfish

It requires a certain state of mind to effectively convey mood via a photograph - a snapshot taken in which you hope to encapsulate how much you wish the recipient was there with you; that it was his hand, not yours, shadowing lightly across your chest, only barely brushing the nipple, its nerve bundles electrifying your senses in anticipation of what’s to come.

The contents of the lacy material wrapped around hips, barely transparent, only you know how to unwrap the gift within, so I will wait. I won’t touch; won’t tease any more than this.

I will wait.

For you.


	186. Wanton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100 words (but who cares?!)


	187. Waiting

I close my eyes, hoping the promise of your message isn’t empty. I guided you earlier that day as I always do, unerringly to a successful mission. I hope you will return the favour by guiding my dreams.

I’m not disappointed.

The light brush against my thigh feels so real, but I’m asleep…

Aren’t I?

My eyes open slowly, but billowing curtains are my only bedfellow. I raise myself on elbows to gaze at the London vista from your top floor apartment.

I find my hand running down my thigh, trying to fill the space of your ghost-dreamed touch.


	188. Waking

My thigh is cool.

My hand, hot.

The heat from my fingertip feels no less intense than the glow around the edge of the hole left by a bullet in a perforated target on the test range.

God… I can’t even begin to put into words how much I need…

“Q.”

“James…” I hear myself mutter. Surely I’m still dreaming. Darkness does that to my mind. Blurs my senses, frees me from my immersive reality.

Wet heat against the inside of my right knee.

“I’ve missed you.”

I won’t open my eyes. I can’t bear if this is a dream…


	189. Bleed

“Q.”

The tone is gruffer, laced with a purpose cast to define and complete my pleasure. My hand moves across my stomach now, and down to take hold my arousal’s response to the sound of your voice in my dreams.

Still, I do not open my eyes. I’m dreaming.

Aren’t I?

My hand moves. My back curves, arching from neck to base while I imagine your fingertips trailing gently over every bump.

“Q.”

My hand quickens, the feel of lace against oversensitive skin intensifying the sensation.

You hover above me, behind still closed eyes. You reach out.

You touch.


	190. The Gift

The curtains are billowing over him, light and dark drifting across his skin like the shifting sands of the wind-swept desert I once crossed during training in my pre-00 days.

He’s irresistible when he’s like this, hovering between wake and sleep. He’s wearing my gift. Such a small thing.

A gift for a gift.

I’ve been sitting quietly in the shadows, watching. Enthralled.

I have no choice but to touch. Crawling forward, I place my hand on his neck, head tipped back over the edge of our bed.

“Q,” I whisper.

His hand quickens its movements in answer.


	191. Slumbers Share

I’m not sure where his dreams are taking him when he rolls onto his front, mumbling my name through the thickening mist of sleep.

I’m exhausted, but not so spent I can’t take the time to lull him deeper.

He’s the reason I’m here after all.

No doubt, when he wakes first, as he usually does, he will rouse and arouse me to their echo.

The thought makes me smile. A rare thing. And only ever for him.

A kiss on his brow, a hand on his chest. I succumb to shared dreams, led by the rhythm of his heart.


	192. Punch Drunk Dawn

I ache.

That said, I’ve slept like the dead. Bottomless, dreamless. The darkness was so deep, so endless you weren’t there. I had no sense of you. I drowned in the black and didn’t look for you because I knew you were right beside me, breathing, alive, mine.

But I wake now, wrapped in the warmth of the man who admonishes me for not appreciating his toys in the same breath I feel his love for me with every single exhaled word.

Your fingers sink into my skin.

Q.

You have _no_ equal.

But you equal every moment I cherish.


	193. Punch Drunk Morning II

The curtains still gently billow.

The sounds of a constant city rumble distantly beneath. I watch clouds drift through half-closed eyes, your warmth pressed against my side, one hand where the gun of shoulder holster would rest, the arch of your foot soft against the ankle where my knife would nest concealed.

I slow my breathing, preparing for your rousing move. You do not disappoint, rolling your weight onto me, pressing me into the mattress.

You sigh, warm breath against my shoulder. I decide to feign sleep.

I know how much you enjoy waking me on your own terms.


	194. Rouse

The softness of your breath on the dip beneath my throat is soon followed by dry, warm lips. Again, I’m reminded of the desert - a place a soul could become easily lost, devoured by its heat and barren wastelands.

But wasteland you are not.

You, are an oasis. The sanctuary to which I now return from every mission…

You slide down my chest, allow your tongue to draw lines across skin, the responding tingle leaving me at your mercy.

I feel your smile against my stomach. I’m so completely aroused, the tip of my hardness brushes your lightly stubbled jaw.


	195. Taking

I inhale deeply.

Capturing our mingled scents only serves to heighten my senses. The thirst I didn’t realise I had was instantly satisfied when I plunged my mouth down with slow, sensual purpose.

After every mission from which you return, it becomes my mission to remind you why.

Your hand in my hair anchors me in the now, you’re edging towards wakefulness, the ripple of your hips upwards I expect and welcome, taking you deeper, making you forget the woman you allowed seduce you two nights before…

Yet…

Here you are. In my bed. Our bed. Mine for the taking.


	196. Close

_I’m close._

I can feel it though the flexing of your stomach, the tensing of your fingers in my hair…

_Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m not sure I’ve felt this strung out since I defected from Moscow. I hate this fucking city… Crowded, suffocating. Even at waking dawn._

“Q. Please. Don’t stop…”

_I’m nearly at his flat, almost put my fist through the glass partition when the taxi driver stopped at a traffic light._

You know I won’t, James. I won’t stop until the mission is complete…

_Here. Finally. It feels like a lifetime ago since I parachuted from that plane…_

_ _


	197. Destination Q

You never know what you were born to do until you’re forced into the corner of no escape that forces you to dig past your soul into the darkness and pull that shit out of its shadow.

I literally cannot believe this shit. Exhausted. I should’ve taken the stairs.

Fucking shit technology. The elevator up to your flat has stalled.

Like that’s going to stop me.

I haul my Russki ass through the exit in the roof.

It’s only nine floors. I know what’s waiting.

Mein  kvartirmeyster is worth every blister and burn and breath of effort in his name.


	198. Closer

James…

You’re satiated. And sleeping.

This, I give willingly.

You’re home.

The knock on the door is a surprise. So early and unexpected. It must be an emergency that requires circumventing the regular channels of communication.

I roll out of bed and leave you to your rest, hoping your services are not needed so soon after your return from Croatia.

I sigh as I pull on my robe and stroll towards the door, prepared for the worst this world of spies and lies can throw my way.

I’m still achingly hard. But who the fuck cares?

I unlock the door.


	199. Breach

_Alec._

_Q._

_This is a breach of our agreement._

_Yes. But I don’t care._

You’re on me before I have time to protest further. A hot tongue plunges into my mouth. I can taste ozone, ash, earth and vodka. My world tilts off its axis. I try to regain some balance and control in the face of your onslaught.

You break the kiss to pick me up and carry me to the kitchen.

 _James…_ I gasp.

_So? If he complains I’ll fucking shoot him._

You dump me on the table, reaching for a bottle of oil while unbuttoning your combats.


	200. Breach II

You’re angry.

Whether at me, the mission’s failure or the world in general, it’s difficult to tell.

Part of me hopes James will sleep through this, but you’re grunting with the pleasure of a wolf that’s had his first kill in days.

Your entire physical and mental focus is on your prey.

Me.

So I grip the edges of the table, knuckles white, sharper than the thrust of your unrelenting hips between my thighs.

I say nothing when I see James approach from behind.

In the last moment, you swing your arm, hoping to connect with his jaw no doubt.

 


	201. Submission

On a typical day, you would be fairly evenly matched.

But James is rested. You are on the verge of experiencing a crashing post-mission comedown.

And you are in breach of our agreement.

You’re fast, but James is faster.

He blocks the swing with his forearm and wrestles your arms into a lock hold behind your back.

You are powerless.

And your cock is still in my arse.

_Fucking Russian prick._

“We talked about this, Alec. And we agreed 24 hours post mission. Minimum.”

To your credit, you back away and tip your head back onto James’ shoulder.

Submission.


	202. Lesson

I sit up and retrieve the underwear you so unceremoniously tore from my body before plunging into me.

You’re still locked in James’ hold, looking suitably chastised, but I don’t spare you an inch, nor a modicum of sympathy.

You’re still a prick, Alec.

You both watch me wrapping my robe around my body.

I go to the drawer by the sink and pull out a couple of cable ties: thick, wide, strong.

I place them upon the space on the table my arse has just vacated before turning towards the bedroom.

_Sort it out. And don’t fucking break anything._


	203. Futile

I watch him retreat. Brutal bastard.

But I suppose that’s why I keep coming back…

I feign submission, but Bond is no fool. The strength of the armlock has not relaxed. Still. I would not be me if I did not at least try and resist.

I use his hold to my advantage, lifting both feet off the ground and leveraging my bodyweight to throw him off balance.

A hazy state is my only excuse for underestimating him.

He pivots into the move, crashing me face down into the floor.

I can add disinfectant to the flavours on my tongue.


	204. Love and Loathe

“Be thankful I’m your friend and like you so much.”

His foot is flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the floor. I try to push up but his fist connects with my jaw and the room spins.

“If this is how you treat your friends…”

“Imagine the good time I show my enemies.”

He secures one cable tie around my ankles, the other around my wrists, making sure they are tight enough to break skin should I decide to struggle.

I am filled with self-loathing for the arousal I feel as he drags me to the bedroom.


	205. Sensory Deprivation

You are spread across the bed, robe falling open. You do not acknowledge my presence, continuing to stare out the window while James secures me to an armchair in the corner of the room.

My cock is still free from my combats, so hard it’s almost purple. The sight of you in your semi-debauched state does little to relieve the pressure.

“Going to force me to watch, are you?”

I direct my question to the bed, still ignored, when James answers, “that would be too kind…” while dropping the blindfold over my eyes.

“You must be fucking joking.”

_Ublyudki._


	206. Sensory Deprivation II

“Your turn, Quartermaster…”

I clench my fists in frustration. “You’re a pair of bastards.”

My voice cracks, knowing that I’m being denied the sight of our Quartermaster taking you over and over, a pleasure even I’ve never taken despite our years of friendship.

 _Torture_.

I can hear the mattress groan rhythmically and I groan in empathy through gritted teeth. I can’t even touch myself.

James is moaning softly.

“You brought this on yourself, Trevelyan,” each word a reprimand from those plush lips, obviously punctuated by a thrust of your hips into James.

It’s the longest 4 minutes of my life.


	207. Rested Russian

_What the…_

The bedroom is dark, the bed empty, made, the curtains drawn.

That wasn’t four minutes. More like four fucking hours. The cable ties and blindfold are gone.

I hear the front door open and close, then laughter.

I feel endlessly calm. A submarine floating silently in the depths.

The bedroom door opens and I look up to see my Quartermaster, dressed to kill.

“Well hello sleeping beauty. Rested are we?”

“What did you do?” I growl at him, but it’s not serious. I feel… so much better.

“James took me to dinner while you had a little nap.”


	208. Coming Round

I knew a little sedative would take the edge off, Alec of course blissfully unaware of the slim needle sliding into the juncture of neck and shoulder as James slipped on the blindfold.

He’s trying to hide his expression of irritation at been gotten the better of but we both know…

I feel James’ presence behind me, his hands slide round the front of my waist and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“How is our unexpected guest?”

I smile, knowing what he’s thinking. We talked extensively about it over dinner.

“Oh I think he’s learned his lesson, James…”


	209. End of Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last one... I'll pop them all in one for new readers. :)

_OhYessss……_

You _have_ learned your lesson.

**Mmmm. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing to disobey the Quartermaster on occasion, if this is where that path leads.**

_Slender pal'tsy dancing across my chest, calloused Ruki exploring my thighs._

The way you kiss makes me want to code my arse to respond only to your palm-print. Though James might have something to say about that.

**It’s a good thing he’s my friend and I trust him. Because the way Q’s looking at him…**

_I’ve learned my urok. I can only hope for more._


	210. Neck

The door is open to your workshop.

You do not hear me enter, do not look up from whatever task currently absorbs your attention.

I remain still, concealed in the shadows. You shed your jacket and your tie, both obviously hampering your work. You roll up your shirtsleeves, not taking your frowning expression from the gun mounted on the rack before you.

I can only imagine how it’s offended you.

You undo a couple of buttons at the neck of your shirt before sliding out a component and holding it up to the light.

And that is what undoes me.


	211. One More Thing

I move fast.

I’m on you almost before you realise I’m there. My mouth lands with soft restraint on your throat, only a split second before my hands grapple your waist to drag you against my body.

You drop the pin, grab my shoulders to steady yourself. Your strangled moan tells me my blind risk has paid off.

I’ve progressed to your jaw by the time you’ve finally found some words.

“Bond? I— I thought you were done…”

You open your eyes. I anchor your gaze to mine.

“Done?” I glance down at your mouth. “I haven’t even gotten started.”


	212. Imperfect Targeting Mechanism

_Good God, it’s hot. I thought these bloody bunkers were supposed to be cool? Most of them are under or parallel to the Thames for bugger’s sake…!_

I shirk off my jacket and tie, adjust my shirt.

_This weapon will be the end of me._

It’s frustrating beyond measure. Each component is delicately aligned, so one a millimetre out of place throws the whole damn mechanism out of whack…

 _Ah-ha!_ I’ve located the rogue element and pull out the pin, holding it up to the light to scan for imperfections. The light momentarily blinds me.

But I hear something.


	213. James Bond Has Returned

The spots of light in front of my eyes clear as quickly as they appeared to reveal, you.

Bond. James.

Bearing down upon me with a look I once thought reserved for beautiful women, sharp custom-made suits, interesting Q Branch toys and lovingly kitted-out cars.

To be on the receiving end of firstly THAT look, swiftly followed by the heat of THOSE lips, sends my senses into a spin.

In a second, three things occur.

My heart drops into my stomach; the skin on my hips is seared by your touch; and I am momentarily lost for words.


	214. ...And He Hasn't Even Gotten Started

No sooner had the sentence left his lips than they became preoccupied by mine.

His hands circling and pushing into the small of my back moved me closer still, their strong uncompromising warmth distracting me enough to exhale a breath of which he took full advantage, sliding his tongue with unhesitant confidence into my mouth.

I’m reeling…

… But then remember where I am.

I pull back. But you won’t release me, holding me firm and pressing our hips together.

I clear my throat and straighten my glasses.

“—Tanner,” I say distractedly.

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “You’re thinking about… Tanner?”


	215. But He Plans To Continue

I smile in return at your amused laugh and shake of head, watch as you straighten your glasses again, nervously, and bite the back of your hand.

“I have a meeting. With Tanner."

I want to devour you, feel that light flush I’ve brought to your cheeks warm against my bare chest, your blossoming arousal pressed between us with no clothes to stand in the way of sliding skin.

I step back, removing my hands and relocate them to the pockets of my trousers.

“You’d best be getting on then. Wouldn’t do to keep our illustrious Chief of Staff waiting.”


	216. Tying The Knot

When you crossed the bridge and walked towards Swann and away from your MI6 family, I was sure that was the end.

But you’re here. Standing in front of me, looking ready to take on the world.

Or maybe take on me.

I take a levelling breath and roll down my sleeves. I reach for my tie close on the workbench but you beat me to it.

You move forward into my space and loop the article round my neck, glancing my collarbone with your fingers before buttoning up my collar.

I hold your gaze as you tie the knot.


	217. Loosening The Ties

I run my hand across the tie.

“Very precise. Very neat…”

“Unlike some of my handiwork in the field?”

I huff a laugh while retrieving my jacket from behind my chair.

I button it up to hide the obvious… interest… developing.

“My stint in the Navy taught me many useful things Q. A decent knot is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Well then. How about you take me to dinner later and you can tell me all about your submariner adventures?”

I’m establishing some ground rules. Your expression conveys understanding. I note a flash of gratitude in your eyes.


	218. Ship To Shore

“… So I think in the short term, we can manage… Q?”

“Ship to shore? Earth to Quartermaster?”

It’s the snap of Tanner’s fingers that shakes me back to the present, away from my workshop and twenty minutes before when James sodding Bond had his lips on my neck…

“Apologies, Tanner.”

“Where were you?” he asks, shuffling some paperwork back into its file.

I clear my throat. “A rather vexing problem I had to drag myself away from. I should know better than start something complex before a meeting with our Chief of Staff,” I reply.

And isn’t THAT the truth.


	219. Invitation

I’m sitting in my flat, sipping from a tumbler of Scotch, contemplating jerking myself off to the memory of my earlier encounter with the Quartermaster when my phone beeps, alerting me of a message:

_Ku Bar, Firth Street, 8pm._

I smile. I never had you down as so forthright but I can’t deny it’s not a very attractive look on you. I’m about to reply in the affirmative when a photo follows:

|  
 _In case you don’t recognise me._

 

Well hello Queen and Country…

I’m up and headed for the shower before my phone hits the sofa.


	220. 21st Century Agent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fun, in honour of our first female Doctor.
> 
> You've got this, Jodie! :D

Bond opened his eyes, brain clouded in fog.

The last thing he remembered was the slightest pinpoint burn of a syringe sliding into his neck…

He tilted his head up and to the side, his eyes drawing level with the sight of the Quartermaster’s arse, standing at the far side of the room, speaking in low tones with M.

He groaned and raised a hand to his head, only to be met with long strands of thick wavy locks of hair.

_What the…?_

“Ah, 007,” said M jovially approaching the bed.

“Welcome to the 21st century." Q was grinning.  "Jane…”


	221. Diary Of A Provocateur

I’d forgotten something, was out the main entrance when I doubled back with an apology to security. To be fair, I’d had much on my mind.

Almost lost you, though this time it wouldn’t have been your fault. Miscalculations in my position are unforgivable.

The debrief with M and you had been terse.

But Six needs me.

And I need Six. That realisation was unexpected when it hit.

Also unexpected, when I walked into my workshop to retrieve my spare laptop was the sight of you sprawled in my chair, and the sound of my name coming from your lips…


	222. Rescue Me

Q glanced over at Bond, barely able to suppress the grin at the look of abject disdain on his face.

Who’d have thought it would take a cat rescue centre to push the agent out of his depth.

“Why am I here?” he muttered, half to himself.

Q scanned the cages. “You’re here because 006 and Eve were unavailable and M insisted, Bond. So suck it up. It’s only a couple of hours of your morning.”

The plaintive meow drew Q further into the room, Bond trailing behind.

Q was won over by the questioning, haughty sapphire eyes.

“This one.”


	223. Do You Really Need Those?

“Do you really need those?”

Q looked at Bond then, who was watching him with the mild curiosity of a cat that had spotted a shuffle in the undergrowth and was contemplating whether or not it was worth investigating.

He looked down at the surgical gloves before putting them back in his pocket.

“No. I don’t suppose I do,” he replied.

Bond placed his forearm in the cradle. Q tightened the leather strap around it, just below the elbow.

Neither of them broke the mutual stare.

“Too tight?”

Bond rolled his fingers. Veins popped. “Just the way I like it…”


	224. Q-Squared

Q’s parentage, on his father’s side, was a mystery.

Orphans did make the best recruits. At least in the opinion of the woman who had recruited him. She too was in the dark about his origins.

His mother died from cancer when he was very young and he was adrift in heart and mind until Olivia Mansfield materialised in his life and swept both of their proverbial feet.

His genius was natural and inherent, but with a little direction by the SIS, that genius crystallised into something as pure and it was deadly.

And all the while, his father watched.


	225. A Hacker and A Safecracker

"BBBUUZZZZ! SLAM!"

Alex gave an involuntary shudder at the sound before flopping himself down on the bunkbed in his cell with a sigh. Thankfully, he had a cell to himself, the warden all too aware the threat to someone so young-looking and vulnerable in such a place.

He was no fool. The wolf whistles on his way from holding certainly suggested he should align himself with some muscle and fast.

“Lemme guess. You is innocent as the day is long…” The Southern drawl from the cell next to his floated through the bars. “Cos you sure as shits lookit.”


	226. Blood & Lace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Q dreams (or are they dreams?)
> 
> Either way, the images are so jumbled, sometimes poetry is the only way he can put it into words when he awakes.

The window is open. 

Elements invade my sleep.

The air stifles in its closeness, 

An invisible curtain pressed to my body.

I am diverging, dividing, divided.

Dreams fall into endless dark.

Pale skin is touched by the silhouette 

Gliding through the window, unnoticed.

The intruder looms silent. 

My ghost of future present.

Reaching out to touch, the wound

Springs fresh blood, seeping into lace.

The colour drains, black from white.


	227. Metal Made Flesh

The touch was light, exploratory, belying the true intent and capability of the man behind it.

Stalker. Provocateur. Killer.

Q laced his fingers beneath his chin and watched, allowing the tentative invasion of his equipment to continue unchecked.

Well. It had been a tough mission and he felt were he going to permit Bond an indulgence, now was as good a time as any.

Q couldn’t help but admire the way all his careful craft fit so perfectly in the palm of the agent.

Bond could mould himself to anyone, anything.

Q broke the spell. “007. Shall we get started?”


	228. Mellow Cello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen while you read: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCicM6i59_I

Q hit play.

The smooth, effortless notes drawn from the space between bow and strings fills the air.

He’s alone in bed.

He rolls onto his knees, head bowed for a moment before straightening each vertebrae and locking them together, finishing the move with a roll of his shoulders. Head tipped back towards the ceiling, he stretches his arms up, interlocking his palms and fingers.

The music plays on.

Each night spent with Bond always had the same effect.

Life after death.

With a sigh, Q flops forward, the piece coming to an end.

“Beautiful,” murmurs James from the doorway.


	229. Trigger

Sometimes a trigger does need to be pulled.

But sometimes, Bond is not the one to do it.

Sometimes, he can watch the scene unfold like some Victorian tragedy. A woman shunned, her emotions abandoned by the mark she had chosen to whom to give her heart.

She slips into the hotel room, the anonymous message on her phone gnawing away like a rat at her mind. She is alone in the bed Bond has just vacated, watching from pitch-black shadows. She leans down to the sleeping woman, smells his aftershave.

Her hand raises, pistol poised.

“Forgive me.”


	230. Words Are Weapons: Wield With Care

“I could take you now.”

“I really don’t find you that interesting?”

They’re in the weapons hold, arguably two of the most dangerous men on the planet, on the verge of setting off some explosions of their own and causing more potential damage to the world of espionage since Aldrich Ames turned from CIA to KGB intelligence.

Bond’s face is close but not touching Q’s; the caressing hold of the slender, jagged hip is firm but not demanding; Q feels exposed but not threatened, his back to Bond, while he dismantles the gun.

Bond steps away.

“Perhaps. But you will…”


	231. Cool Heat

The wind whipped around Bond, the coat doing its best to stave off the cold, his fingers and toes numb from the near subzero temperatures. He raised his hands to his mouth and cupped his palms together, blowing warm air into the space and stamping his feet.

His circulation wasn’t what it used to be.

His earpiece crackled to life.

“007…”

Bond smiled. It was the same tone Q used two nights ago, before stripping him down, pushing him onto the bed and demanding compliance to do with him what he wished.

That memory alone warmed him to his bones.


	232. Fables and Fairytales

“Don’t tell me,” said James, “I’m good at this.”

He feigned a thoughtful expression while massaging the sole of Q’s foot on a rare, lazy Thursday morning. Still early and Bond was grounded for a few days.

“The Princess and the Pea?”

Q rolled his eyes and grabbed a pillow, throwing it hard at his face. “Fuck off, Bond.”

Bond placed the pillow under his head, eyes bright in the dawning light.

“Jackin’ the Beanstalk?” he enquired, his eyes glancing down Q’s body to his own blossoming morning glory.

Q laughed brightly, eyes twinkled. “Best start the climb then, 007.”


	233. The Empathy Of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone on the 00Q Group pointed out a while ago, that Tanner was a character far too often ignored in fan fiction. So I guess I'm going to give him a bit of an outing. Here's 100 Words to kick off a one-shot and a return to Arthur and James in the To Be A Quartermaster series from Tanner's POV.

Bill Tanner had a gift.

An atypical gift, but one that served him and those in the employ of the Secret Intelligence Sevices very well.

Nothing so crass as X-Ray vision (though that would be useful), or the ability to bend metal with his mind (also useful, at least according to his tomboy daughter, Amelia.)

This was a gift that allowed him to wrangle the people with whom he worked, from the top of the MI6 food chain right down to the staffers hunkered over Q-Branch desktops.

He knew his value well, though did not advertise that fact.


	234. The Empathy Of Men II

Another rather useful gift bestowed upon the quiet legend of Bill Tanner was the ability to observe unobserved.

This made him something of a savant when it came to insight into the minds of his staff; an uncanny ability to know what they were thinking before it dawned on they themselves.

And so it was, when a young Arthur Clifton assumed the mantle of Quartermaster, Tanner stood quietly at the back of the room, did what he did best and _observed._

He watched the Double Os size up Boothroyd’s replacement with a sort of blanket incredulity.

Well.

All except one.


	235. The Empathy Of Men III

There were but two people in the entirety of MI6 who knew all there was to know about each and every person who worked within the hallowed walls of River House.

One was M of course, and the other was Bill Tanner.

And the dual impression with which he was left on seeing the mildly irritated mixed with bored curiosity on Bond’s features while Q laid out his ground rules was singularly this:

The outcome would be either a mess of epic proportions or… the bonding over their mutual pasts would herald a new era of brilliance in the Service.


	236. The Empathy Of Men IV

Tanner sat across from M, trying not to fidget. Regardless the respect with which she treated her Chief of Staff, it didn’t stop him feeling a little intimidated by all five foot nothing of the most powerful woman next to the Prime Minister.

Her little finger tapped the corner of her mouth as she absorbed the contents of the confidential files before her, the files of one Arthur Clifton and one Commander James Bond.

She closed the files and swivelled in her chair, betraying no emotion one way or another.

“Thank you, Mr Tanner. Keep me appraised.”

“ Of course, M.”


	237. The Empathy Of Men V

The firing range was deserted but for the lone figure of the Quartermaster, inspecting, loading and testing his latest modified Walther. A shadow came into view on the monitor on Tanner’s desk. The Chief of Staff watched the unmistakeable outline of 007 move into frame, hovering almost protectively behind the young boffin.

His hand moved forward toward the small of his back before thinking better of it and clenching his fist to stay the move. Q placed the gun and removed his ear protectors, tilting his head with a smile towards the Agent.

Tanner smiled, flicking the screen to black.


	238. Born Again

It was unexpectedly dark when Bond entered their shared living space. He had expected Q to be home by now.

He found himself instinctively go into stealth mode, still, quiet, listening and waiting for the dark to give up her secrets.

Bond heard a soft rustle of metal links against each other and unholstered his gun.

He edged smoothly across the carpet of the living room towards the bedroom.

Through the crack of the door, soft light spilled casting a halo around the pale skin of the Quartermaster.

Draped in a shroud of chainmail, his secrets were Bond’s to unravel.


	239. Born again II

Bond reached out to touch. The metal was warm. Q had obviously been waiting some time.

“What've I done to deserve this?”

Q smiled at the gruffness in his tone. It had been a frustrating mission, a failure actually. Or rather a setback.

He took a step closer, allowing a hand to travel down to Q’s waist and around to touch and caress the curves beneath his back, fingers sliding easily beneath the tiny links of metal.

Q leaned into his space, the brush of lips, delicate as the man was strong.

“What makes you think it’s for you?”


	240. Born Again III

The sheets were cool against Bond’s back. He closed his eyes, simply to savour the feeling of the gentle undulations by the body above him.

He was transported back to the mission earlier that week; in the darkness, waiting, the press of cold brick behind him; the smooth ridges of the grip warmly reassuring against his palm.

He opened his eyes again, lost in the moment, the gun grip replaced by the sensation of interlinked metal encasing the hip of the man to whom he belonged.

Bond was his weapon, his to wield, to mould, to repair and improve.

His.


	241. Born Again IV

If he is very quiet, he can hear the things Bond never says.

He never says those things out loud but Q can see them in his eyes. He rarely speaks during the act. Before and after? Oh yes. All mouth and less trousers.

But during? He is as silent as the dawn, his eyes a deep darkness, tinged with bright intention. The predator on mission, completely focussed on bringing both parties to a satisfying conclusion.

Q can hear the unspoken words of desire penetrate a mind already opened to all that he is.

The dark. The light.

The end.


	242. Breakfast In Bed

“I like my eggs scrambled, rich with butter and removed from the flame just the wrong side of firm. Let the residual heat from the pan take care of the finish.”

Bond was mouthing an ankle poking from beneath the covers.

“I like my toast buttered warm.”

He trailed his tongue up the back of the thigh.

“But perhaps, once the coffee has percolated to my liking, the best part of the entire ensemble is the ham….” Bond sunk his teeth gently into Q’s left arsecheek, eliciting a laughing yelp into the pillow.

“You know where the kitchen is, 007….”


	243. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 00Q group prompt from Boffin1710.
> 
> "Lets play a game. Take these five words out of context "... I found him/her this way..." and write a paragraph related to the Bond Universe in some way."

Lost…

The glassy stare replacing the life leaving his eyes, bored into mine.

I’d lost him.

_No…_

I _found_ him this way. He was mine to bring back. I covered his mouth with mine, breathing every shred of inner life-force I could muster and infusing it into his slender form.

_One…Two… Three… Breathe…_

I never give up on myself. Why would I give up on him? Resurrection is my speciality.

_One…Two… Three… Breathe…_

_“I will_ _never give up on you, 007.”_ His words, echoing, rang in my ears.

Come back to me, Q. Find me here.

Always…


	244. Operation Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired mostly by this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UoUEQYjYgf4

Alan observed his humans from the kitchen island, one of his favourite vantage points.

Q swept past. Bond was four steps behind.

“Q…”

“Not now, 007!” _SLAM!_

Alan’s tail twitched. _Mmmmmeoowww…_

Alan was a problem solver. Not that anyone was aware of that.

Bond was leaning with his back to the bedroom door. Alan caught his eye.

“What're you looking at?” Bond groused.

Alan held his gaze while lifting his paw, a casually bored expression on his face, and placed it against the handle of Q’s favourite mug and nudged it towards the island's edge.

“Alan….” Bond drew out warningly.


	245. Operation Nudge

_Nudge, nudge…_

“Alaaannn…” Bond repeated, pushing himself from the door.

_Nudge, nuuudddggggeeee…_

The mug teetered precariously on the ledge, suspended in a long moment designed to test the speed and agility of MI6’s most capable agent.

Bond sprinted forward. Three steps and socked feet hit smooth wood. He went into a full feet first body slide, the mug landing rim down on his toes. In one continuous motion he flicked the foot towards his hand and caught the mug, just as he collided full force with the kitchen table and chairs.

That sound drew out the Quartermaster.

“What the…?”


	246. Operation sMug

It took four seconds for Q to assess the scene.

Alan, still perched on the island edge, gazed down with mock indifference at the Double O sprawled on the floor beneath while Bond, still holding the mug, scowled back.

The cat looked over at Q then. A self-satisfied blink was supplied.

He bit the back of his hand to suppress the laugh. He moved forward, Alan standing up in expectation of a groom for his efforts.

“You,” he said, as Alan leaned into his hand, “are a naughty boy.”

“And me?” Bond enquired from the floor.

Q smiled. “Forgiven.”


	247. Slither

Q was asleep on the couch in his office.

Restless. Fidgety. Dreaming.

The door opened a crack. A hiss and a slither sounded from the floor before it quietly clicked shut.

It was the movement of something long and alien across his chest that caused his eyes to flutter open sleepily.

In the same moment, 007 came crashing through the door, startling both Q and the snake, its natural instinct to whip forward and sink its teeth into the flesh beneath Q’s collarbone.

Bond was fast but not as fast as the reptile, grabbing its tail and yanking it away.


	248. Writhe

“Don’t move!” barked Bond. Q froze, the shock of what had transpired hitting him like a wall.

Bond grabbed a tray from Q’s desk, tipping out the contents, placing over the slippery intruder.

Within seconds, he was on the couch with Q, looming over him, staring him down. The deja vu of the position in which the snake had moments ago pinned him flittered on the edge of his thoughts.

“Do you trust me?”

But Bond didn’t wait for a reply, baring his shoulder. Clamping an unyielding mouth around the bite, he sucked hard.

Q could only writhe beneath him.


	249. Extract

“Well,” said Doctor Spencer, withdrawing the syringe from Q’s neck, “judging by the lack of discolouration around the bite, I’d say Bond managed to successfully…”

“Suck?” Bond supplied helpfully from where he was lounging in the corner of the room.

Q scowled.

“ _… Extract..._ the toxin from your body before it took hold of your nervous system. The antidote should take care of any remnants.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Q replied, buttoning up his shirt. “I don’t suppose you’ve anything for the enormous hickey with which Bond has adorned me?”

“You know what they say, Q. Time heals all wounds,” Bond quipped.


	250. Running The Country

Running the country.

It wasn’t exactly how he’d foreseen his life panning out but sometimes, destiny is a stubborn wench with whom we do not get a say once she’s made up her mind.

Of course, running the country meant keeping the PM out of trouble and as Chancellor of the Exchequer, Quinn Pullman absolutely excelled in that respect.

Gareth Mallory was an intelligent and charismatic man who could wow and entrance his electorate, but Quinn was the backbone of his economic vision.

He looked at the window of No 11 to see the PM’s head of security, James “arsehole” Bond making his way up the steps to the door of his residence. Quinn rolled his eyes.

_What the blazes does he want?_


	251. Convergence

He would be winding down, and to do that, he would wind me up.

It was a convergence of sorts; two points in time reaching out to other.

My body warm beneath the sweater, some much loved, woollen thing with a gaping neck that slipped down over my shoulder as I squirmed against cool hands and cooler lips seeking respite beneath.

He made me feel as though I brought him back to life, as though the breath he stole from my lips was the only thing keeping his lungs full, his heart beating.

I could die happy in this embrace.


	252. QWERTY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble to go with this wonderful photo manip from Linorien.
> 
> http://spiritofcamelot.tumblr.com/post/165922548677/a-prompt-from-the-anon-prompt-exchange-00q

Admittedly, tech wasn’t Bond’s thing. He was a luddite when it came to anything remotely 21st century, preferring his drinks old-fashioned, his cars classic and his partners simply coded and uncomplicated.

But M had insisted. Stressed he wanted him to interview the Boffin exactly from that point of view.

“We want to connect him with the reader. Otherwise we may as well write the thing in binary and be done with it,” he’d mumbled just before kicking him out of his office.

Bond was wondering how to make it short and sweet when the lad entered the hotel lobby where they arranged to meet.

And rapidly reassessed the situation.

Far from short, tasty rather than sweet, as they shook hands and their eyes met, Bond felt his palate for tech expand.

 

(For [Linorien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien))


	253. Shift

The soft click of claws against hardwood echoed in Q’s hallway. He’d shifted as soon as he entered the house, aware of the intruder. Bond took in the sleek, fur coat and the slow ripple of firm muscle beneath from his vantage point above, bristling with envy.

He crouched in the darkness and waited for the lynx to pass underneath him.

He pounced, landing with unerring accuracy on his back and sinking in his claws. Startled, Q immediately shifted back to human form, forcing the Maine Coon to relax his grip.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Paris?” Q groused.


	254. Shift II

Bond growled, his animal hindbrain taking a few seconds to catch up while shifted to mirror the very naked form pinned between him and the floor. Q relaxed further, tipping his head down and exposing his neck. Bond accepted the submission and grazed his teeth lightly along the back of his neck and along his shoulder blade before burying his face in his hair to inhale the raw smell of him.

“Back early,” he replied.

The wolf sat silently, framed by the doorway spilling soft light from the bedroom, watching the exchange. Q looked up.

“Put that tongue away, Alec.”


	255. Steve Not Eve

“Good morning, gorgeous. Miss me, Money—?”  
  
“Penny?”  
  
The average-height, lightly-tanned man stood from behind Moneypenny’s desk, just as Bond rounded the door to M’s outer office.  
  
“M said you were a bright one and it doesn’t take long for it to drop,” the man replied in a smooth Scottish accent that would have melted granite.  
  
It took Bond three seconds to assess the breeding, the competence and intelligent eyes. He could have sliced the stubbornness of his own ego on the cut of his suit.  
  
“I wasn’t aware Eve was being seconded,” Bond said casually.  
  
“Family matters I believe,” he replied after a brief handshake.  
  
“Carry on, 007,” the PA replied, sitting down and turning his attention back to his laptop. “M is awaiting your arrival with baited breath…”


	256. Steve Not Eve II

Life moves to a beat, a pulse that is steady, strong and immutable. It grounds us to the Earth and we move subconsciously to its rhythm.

We are its slave, whether we realise this fact or not.

Those amongst the throbbing crowd that bustle through city streets fortunate enough to realise this fact, come upon that realisation in the most unusual of ways.

And so it was for the Quartermaster of MI6.

Forever grounded, steady, immutable.

Until he wasn’t.

The day he stepped into M’s outer office, the beat stopped.

He shook hands with M’s new PA and a new beat sprang to life.


	257. Shower

It flowed between them, this something, undefined, a something to which neither could give voice.

Surprising, given their expertise at exchanges of snark.

Never a dull moment. And the humour could never be called dry, especially when in the shower.

“How in the hell do you always make me feel so dirty even after we’re both scrubbed clean and smelling like soapy babies?”

Bond was crouched behind him, his back against the shower wall, exploring.

He chuckled through the stream trickling warm and smooth down the small of Q’s back and between the crack of his cheeks.

“Insert pun here…”


	258. A Molotov Cock Tale

_“Tap and Barrel. 30 minutes. I have a liver in need of some damage.”_

Alec rung off before James even had a chance to reply. 006 had been on a deep undercover mission off-grid somewhere in South America so they had a lot of catching up to do. James just wasn’t sure he wanted to do it in the pub. The root of the MI6 grapevine - aka Eve Moneypenny - had reliably informed him that most of Q-Branch would be descending on the venue to welcome their new slip of a Quartermaster. He’d bounced back from Silva and Skyfall well enough but he was appreciated and revered by a very supportive staff regardless.

And apparently, it was his birthday. This is what happens when you give access to high-level personnel files to someone _nice._

Bond sighed and tried to ring Alec to change the meet. Straight to voicemail. Probably showering before a quick check-in with Mallory in advance of his proper debrief in the morning.

Well. He’d meet him there and drag him off somewhere else. The last thing Bond wanted was a couple of Double Os to get caught in a drunken melee of cardigans, converse shoes and code speak.

As he strolled towards the destination, Bond had no inkling of how messy the night was indeed destined to become.

* * *

Alec Trevelyan in a post mission mood could go one of two ways: one so dark not even light or vodka could escape its gravitational pull, or a man intent on wrecking something beautiful from the inside out.

This evening, he was definitely the latter.

Bond was at a table tucked away in a corner by a window with a vantage point on the main entrance. The place was still blessedly quiet when he saw Alec strolling purposefully towards his target. He quickly knocked back the remainder of his whiskey and rose to meet him at the door. He was dragged into a giant bear hug and lifted off his feet the second he’d stepped onto the pavement.

“Jameska!!” he exclaimed, planting a brotherly kiss on both cheeks before slapping him on the back and pivoting him 180 degrees to face the door once more. “You’d better have 20 shot glasses of my favourite vodka lined up on that bar for me or they’re be hell to pay, my friend!” the Russian boomed.

James caught his arm. “It’s good to see you in one piece, Alec, but I thought we might try somewhere different.”

Alec looked momentarily confused and it was in that second, a small group of oddly-dressed boffins, headed up by the sleek and morphously-curved Moneypenny rounded the corner.

_Brilliant._

“James! What a lovely surprise… and Mr Trevelyan. Doubly so.”

“Moneypenny. Actually, we were just leaving. Have a lovely evening…” James began, but Alec was already kissing the back of that manicured hand and James knew they were going nowhere.

“Oh come now, James! You’re not going to deny me the privilege of getting to know the next generation of our colleagues who will rule the world, are you?” His grin was feral as he scanned the group of Q Branchers like a wolf selecting his first hor d'oeuvre…

And then the voice of their glorious leader piped up from the back. “Why are you lot standing around outside the pub? Honestly, it’s like herding cats. Aren’t you supposed to be in charge, Moneypenny?” He pushed through the small group to stand beside her just as Alec was rising from his soft assault on Moneypenny’s hand.

Bond watched the transition from bored cat playing with a mouse to something much more dangerous.

“Ah. Trevelyan I presume?” Q said, meeting his eyes straight on and regarding him coolly, with much the same air of quiet authority he’d greeted Bond during their first meeting in Room 39 of the National Gallery. Alec accepted the extended handshake with nothing more than a tilt of his head. Q broke contact.

“Well. I’m sure you and Bond have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t let us keep you,” he said turning towards the door, while his minions scurried in after him.

Only Moneypenny remained behind observing, watching. Just like Bond. “Are you sure you won’t join us gentlemen?” she asked stepping towards the entrance, drawing them in.

“Mmmm… Maybe one,” Alec said thoughtfully.

Bond rarely accepted defeat. A post-mission Alec Trevelyan was one of those rare times of acceptance.

He could only hope the Russian could resist trying to impress everyone with his Molotov cocktail display.


	259. Molotov Cock Tale II

Q opened his eyes. And rapidly wished he hadn’t. The gentle but insistent thud behind his eyes reminded him how seriously he had been led astray by his minions the night before.

It was then he noticed the sound of the shower. He propped himself up slowly on his elbows and took in his surroundings.

A hotel room.

Huh.

He reached over to the bedside table to grab his glasses and as he slipped them on, a male voice began a rendition of what sounded like… A Russian folksong?

“Fuuuccckkkk…” Q groaned, flopping back again. It only took him about five seconds to gather his senses and a further thirty seconds to pull on the clothes scattered haphazardly around the room.

He’d just reached the door when the bathroom door opened. “Going somewhere, Q?”

He paused but did not look over his shoulder. “This never happened, Trevelyan.”

Q could hear the smugness in his voice. “In that case, thank you for the memories.”

He left, hoping this little interlude wouldn’t come back to bite him in the arse.

One thing he did remember however, as he climbed into the lift was the biting of arses last night, the broken memories piecing themselves together, his groan sinking along with his descent to the hotel lobby.

_“Christ, the sounds coming from you,” Alec murmured against his throat. No sooner had the door shut than Alec had him backed against the wall, encasing the slighter-framed genius with his bulk. Q’s inhibitions were at an all time low, not that either of them were complaining._

_“I’m drunk an’ you-you’re takin’ ‘vantage, 006.”_

_The protests were less than convincing however, with both men shirtless and pressed against each other. Q released another groan in response to Alec’s grip around his waist to hoist him up, a groan which Alec promptly swallowed with his own lips._

Despite his mild mortification, Q felt his arousal waken at the memory of last night’s encounter. And as he exited the hotel under the cover of a pre-dawn sky, he could only pray that a Double O’s discretion extended to not boasting about bedding a superior officer.


	260. Guardian Agent

Bond had observed him since he was a teenager. His first assignment; a shadow protection detail of which the Quartermaster knew nothing.

He even knew Q’s real name. Knew everything about him.

Knew he’d tried drugs at 14 and hated the loss of control; Knew his first kiss wasn’t until he was 15 with a short-haired tomboy of a girl. He’d enjoyed the experience but learned his sexual orientation wasn’t geared in that direction; Knew M was right about him, recognising the genius the moment he laid eyes on him.

But Q didn’t need to know any of that.


	261. All Work and No Play

“You work too hard…” whispered the blurry shadow of the agent, pushing Q’s trousers past his knees.

“He does, doesn’t he?” murmured Alec, upside down face gazing impassively down at the young man, while pinning his wrists above his head to the bed.

“What do you suggest we do about that, Alec?”

“All work and no play makes Q….?” Alec said softly, descending his lips closer, closer, stopping just shy of touch.

“A dull boooyyyy,” he gasped, voice strangled by the feel of lips and tongue exploring below.

The attentions of a Double O remind him he is anything but.


	262. All Work, No Play II

Days spent unravelling complex code means those knots that you unpick from their threads end up inhabiting your body.

In this instance, this is exactly the scenario with the Quartermaster.

But lest we forget, both Alec Trevelyan and James Bond are men of the sea, mariners whose extensive knowledge can have all sorts of applications. Unravelling the knots in rope is no different from loosening those in a young boffin’s muscles. One simply has to know which limb to stretch, which strands to pull, which curve to grip and smooth out the creases.

All in a day’s - or night’s - work.


	263. All Work and No Play III

“I think he likes that, James.”

Q’s hips were raised from the bed, socked feet planted, toes curled hard into sheets while James chartered new territory. The unexplored terrain of his Quartermaster would be mapped twice over before dawn. Bond vaguely wondered how long he’d wanted this, how long they’d all waited until convergence upon one another was as inevitable as him destroying something else invaluable, precious.

James glanced up when Q grabbed his head suddenly, a weak attempt to pull away, watching Alec explore neck, throat, chest, a complete juxtaposition to his usual brutality.

But then, this is Q.


	264. All Work and No Play IV

“Why are you doing this?” Thought Q wasn’t sure if he was asking himself or the two men currently occupying his living space.

Both agents were lounging at the bottom of his bed. In the half light, surrounded by a blurry halo, Q still wasn’t quite sure if he was dreaming.

“We felt…” Alec began, a hand moving forward to glide along the top a foot, and lightly graze his fingertips back down towards his toes, “the time had come to show our appreciation,” finished James.

Q barked a short laugh. “This isn’t appreciation. This is abuse of a superior officer.”


	265. All Work and No Play V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> A 24 hour ban from Facebook for posting a photo of a butt with this drabble. And yet Nazis, extremists and abusive accounts can run roughshod over social media in the name of "FREE FUCKING (HATE) SPEECH." Go figure.
> 
> I reckon I'm out, Facebook. You can go do one. Your moral fibre is seriously askew. I'll still be writing here on AO3 and sharing photos, etc on Twitter and on Tumblr @OHMSService.
> 
> All my love to the 00Q family.

Q could sense more than see the raised eyebrow of Bond. “Abuse now, is it?”

On those words, Alec grabbed his ankle, roughly tugging him down the bed towards them. Q released a strangled yelp but knew better than to fight, allowing himself to be pressed between them.

He still hadn’t come. By the rather evil design of the men currently taking advantage.

And it wasn’t as if they didn’t know what they were doing. Behind him, Bond slid a calloused finger in the crevasse where thigh met groin, Alec meanwhile attacked his neck with his tongue.

That did it.


	266. All Work and No Play VI

Light in mind, light in body. Q finally felt… free, wholly untethered from his responsibilities for the briefest of moments that seemed to stretch long, suspending time around him. Alec and James continued to explore and unlock pathways long since lain dormant in his body, and finally, as he descended once more to the bed, they allowed him to touch. Skin, over muscle, over bone, over heart, beating solid beneath his palms.

“Will you keep them beating, Q?” James whispered softly.

“Maybe. If you do as you’re bloody well told, 007,” he replied, laughing in delight at the tickling unleashed.


	267. All Work and No Play VII

He so rarely found the space, made the time to laugh. Life within the walls of MI6 was an all-consuming daily rollercoaster of fire-fighting and survival, his job to cut a path through the blinding smoke and find his agents a safe and sure exit from danger.

As he had done on about a dozen occasions for the two men presently showering him with their appreciation.

It was when Bond stopped tickling and began kissing and nuzzling his belly with affection that Q startled.

“Don’t,” he whispered to the dark.

“Too late, Quartermaster,” replied Alec, cradling him close.


	268. Let The Right Agent In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some words for Halloween done for the 00Q group.

“Invite me in, Q.”

Now Q is a pragmatist. It may be Halloween but he’s not superstitious. Bond may have gone AWOL on his last mission for longer than usual in Romania but Q doesn’t believe in old wives tales and stories told in the dark to scare little children into listening to their parents. Q did however, notice that the agent was looking paler than usual and he didn’t seem to be… breathing…

“I thought resurrection was your speciality?” he said.

Bond smiled. Pointedly.

“Invite me in and I’ll show you what it means to rise again, my Quartermaster…”

* * *

“Who wants to live forever?” whispered Q against pale skin, paler even than his own, almost luminous in the moonlight flooding through his bedroom window.

“Think of all we could do together, you and I,” James replied, gripping the frame of the headboard. He promised he wouldn’t touch and he intended to earn Q’s complete trust by honouring that promise.

“Your scars…” Q murmured, running his fingertips lightly across his chest and down towards his navel to circle once damaged flesh.

“All gone,” James answered. “But I wear the ones inside still. And I want to share them with you.”

* * *

Q was intrigued.

“Agents don’t open themselves to that kind of manipulation. You’re vulnerable enough as a body. Why would you compromise yourself emotionally?”

Bond risked releasing a hand from the bedframe. He reached for the mop of hair atop the head resting on his belly, watching him carefully in that moment.

He caressed. Q sighed.

Good.

“Mallory didn’t tell you, did he. The mission to Romania was rescue and retrieval of a former MI6 asset.”

Before Q could respond, something fluttered through the bedroom window.

He felt his heart still as the shadows took shape.

“Oh God…”

“Alec. Please…”

* * *

Dark. Everything is dark without light. It is our natural state. The Sun instills life. It’s only natural that the dead thrive in darkness.

It occurs to Q, although he breathes air, his heart beats, his soul still resides in his body, he resides in the darkness too.

These men who are men no more, Q now feels compelled to join them in their own self-imposed darkness. To better understand what it means to exist beyond the light and wield the undead on their own terms.

James kiss is hot. Alec’s look is cold.

Somewhere in between, Q survives.


	269. Never Say Never Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from the 00Q group, "Bond as the new M."

It had been two years since Bond had thrown off the shackles of MI6. Two years since he'd walked its hallowed corridors.  
  
He'd suspected he would return. But not like this.  
  
Not as M.  
  
"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in," he murmured to no one but himself, riding the elevator from the garage to the top floor where his office awaited him. He'd been there many times for a dressing down. He never imagined he'd soon be standing on the other side of the large mahogany beast that dominated the room.  
  
He exited the lift on its ping and strolled the brief distance towards his new responsibilities. He'd missed the thick of the action at first, but his time with Madeleine had proved useful. He was getting on after all. She'd helped him see there was life beyond dodging a hail of bullets.  
  
He never thought she'd be the one to leave him though. Fell for the agent, changed the agent, fell out of love with the man.  
  
Oh well. At least this one didn't die.  
  
"Good morning, Miss Moneypenny."  
  
"M," she replied, smoothly professional as always. "Welcome back, James," she said with a small smile.  
  
Bond stood in front of her, her desk between them. "I'd like to say it's good to be back, but we'll see," he returned.  
  
Her smile broadened. Sometimes a shared history could be a positive thing in this job.  
  
Bond looked towards the door to his office.  
  
"He's waiting for you, as requested. Sir," taking his overcoat and hanging it next to her own.  
  
"Marvellous..." he muttered. He hadn't seen Q since taking his car and leaving the Service high and dry. But... He was the Head of the SIS now, he thought, steeling his mind as he twisted the handle and stepped inside.  
  
Q, who had been sitting patiently waiting, stood and turned.  
  
Bond hadn't known what to expect really.  
  
But... it wasn't this.


	270. Escort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From another prompt in the 00Q group.
> 
> https://78.media.tumblr.com/16e273a01f1e6477baca93f252598b47/tumblr_ondwahR58d1uuv5ybo2_540.gif

They’re in the back of a London cab.

“This is ridiculous…”

“Yes 007, I think I heard you express that sentiment at least four times since we left M’s office after the briefing.”

The cab pulled up outside of London’s finest gentlemen’s establishment and Bond watched the lines of Q’s suit cling to his backside while he climbed out. He turned around abruptly, doing up his jacket.

“Well? Coming?”

Bond wasn’t sure truth be told. The sight of the Quartermaster in a suit… confused him.

“Depends. You up this?”

Q grinned. “I’m going to escort the shit of this, 007.”

 


	271. Minions Love Bananas

Bond hadn’t been to Q Branch during lunch hour before. He was currently regretting that fact. He watched from the far side of the room while Q, oblivious to everything around him but his screen and the piece of fruit in his hand, peeled it delicately.

Bond was mesmerised.

Q placed the tip on the edge of his bottom lip, held it there for a few heartbeats, frowning, while he adjusted something on the screen. He slipped it in further, wrapping his lips around it before biting down.

Bond turned and left. Some fresh air was very much in order.


	272. Pray To The Right God

“Kneel.”

Bond complied.

Q ran long fingers through the short hair and down the side of his face, taking his chin and tilting blue eyes to meet hazel.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Quartermaster.”

“For?”

“For bringing me back.”

Q took a step closer.

Bond kissed the skin between navel and a slender blooming erection with reverence.

“And I will do so, again, and again, and again,” each word Q said was met with an answering touch to hips to small of his back and came to rest on a perfectly formed arse.

“That’s what Gods do,” Bond whispered into his belly. “Resurrect…”


	273. Last Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking about making a return to the Arthur/James dynamic from the To Be A Quartermaster series.

A bitter wind whipped around the man standing at the foot of the grave. He leaned down to place the sunflowers beneath the headstone etched with the name of the man lost to the world, lost to him not long ago.

“I miss you. More than I should,” Q said to the headstone. “I knew the day was coming. I just wish it hadn’t been as soon as it was.”

“You were right. About so much. The job is everything I am. You knew me so well…”

A calloused hand came to rest gently on his shoulder. “Ready?”

“Ready James..”


	274. I Don't Do Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of year again, when Bond gets his Ho Ho Ho on.

“I don’t do Christmas, Moneypenny. This time of year is for children and adults with children of which I am neither.”

“Oh come along, James. It’ll be fun! A room full of boffins who can’t hold their drink, playing party games? God knows what mischief a couple of agents could add to the mix…”

Bond frowned and sighed. He had to admit it was a tempting proposition, especially after seeing Q in that NOW I HAVE A MACHINE GUN jumper donned in reindeer antlers earlier that afternoon. He hadn’t know he was capable of letting his hair down, so ramrod straight they were in a professional capacity.

He folded. “Fine,” he replied. “I’ll join you for one.”

“One drink?” she asked, hooking her arm through his, “and one boffin?” she grinned knowingly.

Bond smiled. “Well, I may not do Christmas. Everything else is on the table…”

 


	275. Gratitude Bespoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, ya sexy, filthy animals.

Bond had never been good at showing his appreciation, which was usually well balanced by an overindulgent dose of snark or sarcasm. It was a well established reality that others were usually the ones giving _him_ the appreciation. Not that it was needed.

Well. Not usually.

He craved the appreciation of one. The one who made him pretty toys, guns that could hit their target without him even trying to aim, cars that could make women’s panties drop at the mere rev of its engine.

Bond had travelled the world, always keeping one eye on a prize that might convey that appreciation without having to put it into words.

For all his wit and intelligence, Bond was still a fool.

For after every mission, when he walked back into the domain of the Quartermaster, bones and balls intact, he was showing the greatest appreciation of all.


	276. Double O UNCLE

At the knock on his hotel room door, Bond ceased his carpet-wearing pace and strode in quick long steps. He peeped through the hole expectantly and immediately exhaled a sigh of relief. Opening the door without hesitation, he ended his exhale on one syllable:

“Q.”

The Quartermaster stood flanked by Solo and Kuryakin, looking somewhat worse for wear, minus his glasses, but all limbs seemed intact.

“James…” he murmured, a pained look of relief flitting across his face before practically falling into his arms.

“As promised, Commander,” Napoleon said briskly, “safe and—“ the end of the sentence trailing off at the sight of the hot and unyielding kiss Q was returning to the agent.

“….sound…” Napoleon stared. Ilya’s cough snapped his mouth shut.

“Time to leave perhaps, Cowboy,” Illya mumbled, finding the corridor’s wallpaper design suddenly very interesting. Bond pushed the door shut never breaking the kiss.

“Well,” Napoleon sighed, “that was unexpected.”

“Don’t see why,” Illya replied, turning to leave, “boy is very attractive,” he continued with a casual shrug. “I would.”

Napoleon could only stare at the broad, retreating back before kicking his brain into gear.

“Wait… What?!”


	277. Double O UNCLE II

“Wait… What?!”

But Illya’s long stride had already carried him around the corner on the way to the elevator.

“Peril!”

Napoleon quickened his step and managed to catch the elevator door a second before it closed the gap. All six-foot massive of Ilya stood there next to him, his usual calm, centred self. Well, at least calm when he felt he had the upper hand on his partner, a rare but enjoyable moment to be savoured.

Napoleon huffed a brief sigh through his nostrils, while giving Illya a side glance. “I don’t suppose you’d care to elaborate on that comment?”

Ilya kept his gaze on the door. “To your credit, though a terrible spy, Solo, you are good at telling lies and sleight of hand.” Napoleon allowed his ego a brief moment of inflation. “While I,” he continued, “am excellent at keeping secrets and winning strategies.”

Napoleon frowned, the elevator pinging to grant them access to their floor. “And how does that answer my question?”

“It doesn’t,” Illya replied, extracting his room keycard from the inside of his jacket. He turned to Napoleonfrom the other side of the door. “What it does tell you is to mind your own business,” he finished with a tight lipped, politely feigned smile before swinging the door shut in his face.


	278. Double O UNCLE III

**The Next Day**

Gaby poured herself a coffee, reaching for the cream. Napoleon materialised beside her.

“Are you sure you need that?” Napoleon asked, reaching for the coffeepot himself. “The pleased feline look on your face when you came into the room suggests you had your fill last night already.”

Gaby put down the jug and turned to him. She said nothing, but looked over her shoulder towards the tall windows and the early morning Moroccan sun streaming through, bathing the Quartermaster of MI6 and her Russian compatriot, Illya Kuryakin in its warm glow. Napoleon followed her gaze. Gaby smiled on feeling the slight bristle emanating from Solo, both of them watching for a few moments at the excited gesticulations of Q and the rapt attentions bestowed upon him by Kuryakin. Bond lounged in a corner seat, reading a morning newspaper, glancing over once to check on his colleague, a small pleased smile permanently plastered across his face.

“Jealous?” she asked, an innocent lilt to her tone, turning back to top her coffee with the creamy liquid.

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Teller,” Napoleon replied. Of course, he knew exactly what she meant because right now, it appeared that he, American espionage’s finest (arguably) lothario was the only one in the room who didn’t get laid last night. Well, except Kuryakin, but he didn’t count…

He was about to stroll over and interject himself into the newly blossoming friendship when the door opened and Alexander Waverly and a stunning dark-skinned woman in a sharp-lined red suit entered the room.

“Good morning, everyone. Good of you to join us,” said Waverly, planting his case onto a side table, and placing his hands behind his back. He half-turned to his companion.

“I’d like to introduce Eve Moneypenny. She has come to us with a proposition from the top of MI6…”


	279. Fool Me Once...

On October 26th 2015, James Bond climbed into Q’s lovingly reconstructed Aston Martin with his latest conquest and hightailed it out of London.

On October 26th 2016, Q completed the modifications on his replacement and handed the keys to 007’s replacement, Lance Hendricks.

One week later, on return from a successful mission, Q accepted a dinner invitation from 007 and he spent that Christmas in the arms of a man whom he loved.

Hendricks died in action on New Years Eve.

On October 26th 2017, James Bond walked back into MI6 to oversee the development of the Double O programme and its closer alignment with Q Branch operations.

And their dance resumed.

2018 would be an interesting year.


	280. Chinese New Year

Q’s super-sensitive internal “cocky arse has entered the building” antennae started beeping. The hush that descended behind him could only mean one thing.

Trevelyan.

The footfalls came to an abrupt halt a few metres behind him in typical Russian fashion.

“What can I do for you, 006? Or is it more a case of what do I need to _undo_?” Q sighed.

“It’s February 16th, Q.”

“And that date is significant how exactly?” Q enquired, wondering if he would regret the asking.

Alec stepped closer but the distance remained respectful, a hunter biding his time, choosing his moment. You could hear a pin drop around them. “Chinese New Year. New Moon.”

“So?” Q groused, glancing dismissively over his shoulder.

Alec turned but not before sharing a wolfish grin with his Quartermaster.

“ _This_ is my year, and about time the dog got his bone…”


	281. String Theory

"BOND!! There appears to be dozens of balls of string on my living room FLOOR! Have you taken up knitting?"

James materialised from the kitchen, bearing a cup of tea and baring a few other things must to Q's delight (though he hid it well). 

"I thought we could test the theory that were I to tie up my Quartermaster we might create a cosmic event in which he is simultaneously both alive and dead..." Bond replied silken smooth.

Q couldn't however, contain an impressed raise of eyebrow. "Interpretation aside - of which I approve by the way - you actually LISTENED to my ranting about Quantum Theory?"

James smiled, passing him the tea.

Q sipped the brew, just on the right side of hot, much like Bond's gaze. "Consider yourself holder of a free destruction pass on my next set of equipment..."


	282. The Fallen

“Call me that again…” James’ voice rough with pleasure.

“Earn it,” Q exhaled, the words condensing in a light film of fluid upon the cool wall against which his chest was pressed, surface smooth beneath the palms splayed flat, James’ fingers fitting comfortably between and around them, trapped head to toe in the most delicious bind.

The front door had barely closed behind them before James had Q’s trousers and underwear pushed down to his knees and his cock pushed between his cheeks, still slick from fellating him to semi-hardness in the car outside Bond’s apartment.

“Again,” he growled, demanding.

But Q was not one to be told. The chain of command was his to exploit.

“No,” he mustered, strong and seductive, pushing his hips in retaliation to Bond’s persistent demands.

Bond grabbed the hair on the crown of his head and tilted it back, stilling his hips while sinking his teeth gently into the pulsing heat of exposed neck.

“Then prepare yourself, Q. You’ve got a long night ahead…”

He released him then, suddenly, bending down to yank up his trousers abruptly. Q was breathing hard, turning to face him but not looking at him. Instead his gaze lingered on the door slightly ajar at the end of the hallway.

Bond had positioned himself against the wall opposite, casually leaning his back against it, watching the Quartermaster closely. He palmed his own cock with slow but deliberate intent.

“I really ought to get home. My cats will need feeding…” Q said, face still turned away, eyes still trained on the door down the hallway.

“Is that rhetorical? Because it doesn’t take a spy to note the words coming out of your mouth have zero bearing on the body language I’m reading right now.”

Q pushed himself from the wall and stepped deeper into the agent’s lair. “You can read, Bond? I’m surprised you even know what a book is. You certainly don’t read the manuals that accompany my equipment.”

“When you trust your instincts and they are as reliable as mine, manuals are moot, Quartermaster,” Bond said, following.

Q’s cardigan dropped from his shoulders onto the floor before they reached the bedroom door. He turned to face the agent, framed in the opening, Bond’s bed in the background, waiting to be wrecked.

Slender fingers reached for the buttons on his own shirt, Q allowing his gaze to finally travel up the body before him to meet storm blue eyes. “This piece of equipment requires careful study in order to operate at peak efficiency,” he stated.

The shirt fell. Their gazes held. The dam broke. The first kiss, torrential.

There would be no fixing this.

The silken quilt cover was cool against Q’s backside, not a crease on the fabric now being seeped through with the heat from his body. He ran his hands across the material, while Bond loomed large above him, still standing, a silhouette of barely-repressed want and perhaps a hint of danger.

Q liked danger.

“You haven’t slept here in weeks, have you?” Q asked, meeting his eyes once more over the rim of his glasses. Bond had removed his own jacket and shirt and was just in the midst of undoing his belt. He knelt down then to slip Q’s underwear, trousers and socks off.

“Haven’t had a good enough reason. Until tonight…” he replied. He remained kneeling, both his hands resting on the top of Q’s feet. Q waited. Patience was after all the mark of a good Quartermaster and also the mark of a better one was being able to read your agents.

Bond’s palms circled around his feet to caress his ankles. He knew he couldn’t win this battle but he’d be damned if he’d make it easy for the lad.

Q smiled. He knew he was searching for weaknesses that could be exploited.

“Again…” Bond whispered, this time a little less demanding, a little more coaxing, pushing his hands up Q’s calf muscles to pause at the back of his knees. The touch was light and restrained and all the more intense for it.

Q shuddered but his resolve held.

“You think I want to give you the satisfaction of hearing that word, spoken so soft against your skin by the women who would fall on their backs for you with little more than a look?”

He smiled and rested back on his elbows on the bed, inviting Bond to traverse the length of his thighs.

“You don’t know me very well do you,” he sighed, the tone of his voice one would use on a child with lessons still to be learned.

Bond’s hands returned to the back of his knees and yanked his body easily towards him, parting his legs as he did so Q’s now fully erect interest came to rest between the crevice of strong, firm chest muscle. “I’m starting to,” Bond replied, lips moist, waiting, a brief breath away from their inevitable destination. Q held his.

Stalemate.


	283. Double O Snow

“I bloody hate snow,” Q grumbled.

“It’s a bit of frozen water,” Bond replied.

Q stopped dead in his tracks nearly losing his feet from underneath him. Fortunately, there was a Double O that could move quicker than gravity could take hold.

“Ummm, you can let go now, Bond,” Q said quietly flushing while looking at his ear.

“Are you sure about that?” Bond asked, tilting his head with a smile at Q’s moment of confusion in a nearly horizontally prone position in his arms.

Q wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Except perhaps the fact that the cold had left his bones.


	284. A Very Alec Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Ashe.

“So. What do you want for your birthday, Alec?” James asked.

Alec knocked back his Vodka shot and stood up from the barstool.

“A fucking lie in and breakfast in bed…” he mumbled. He turned towards the gents just as a certain boffin was exiting the convenience. Alec watched an oblivious Q rejoin his table of department colleagues. Bond followed his gaze.

“Served on the rear end of that slice of chuffin’ deliciousness.”

Bond followed suit, knocking back his Scotch before rising from his seat.

“Your wish is my command, Agent,” he said with a flourishing bow. “I hate to see a grown man go hungry on his birthday.”

“Don’t forget the candles, James!” Alec called to the retreating back making a beeline for the unsuspecting group. “I’ll need something to blow out to really get into the party mood!”


	285. Inevitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Tsuyu.

“Death smiles at us all, Commander Bond…”

“If I smile now, does that mean I am the bringer of yours?”

Q shook his head and coughed. Smiling he said, “I only ever enjoyed you taking my pound of flesh, James,” a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. Bond removed the square from his breast pocket and trapped the flow of life ebbing from his body.

“More the inevitability of time, 007, don’t you th— think…” he trailed off.

The wind blew through Skyfall’s chapel, carrying last words, a shattered heart and broken men to their rest.


	286. Hoppy Easter

“I have a surprise for you, James.”

“I fucking hate surprises as you very well know,” Bond replied.

Q was straddled above him, hands behind his back. Bond lay beneath, hands interlocked behind his head.

“But if it involves you with your legs wrapped around my waist screaming my name and begging for mercy, count me in…” he said through a grin.

Instead, Q contorted his face in such a manner, Bond thought he was going to pop an artery. “Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

Q allowed his expression to relax in relief just as a creme egg dropped from between his buttocks.

Bond could only laugh, saying, “Easter is a time for birth and new life I suppose…”


	287. Supreme

"WHAT is that?" Q muttered as much to his cat Anastacia as he did to himself.

Q was eyeing the offending beast with a mark of incredulity usually saved for a Double O messing up his day.

"That," a familiar voice sounded behind him, "is Mr Splat."

Q slowly turned. Because of course, there was NOWHERE in England left for him to hide, not even during his annual jaunt to his beloved Supreme Cat Show.

Q scowled and crossed his arms. "Since when have you been interested in animals, Bond? Unless using them for target practice."

Bond looked thoroughly scandalised by the accusation. "I'll have you know my Aunt was an avid cat fancier. I've always had a soft spot for the feline form."

"THAT, 007," Q started, angling his thumb and jabbing it over his shoulder at the cage behind him, "could not be defined as a form of anything. A furry puddle at best."

Bond returned the scowl and circled Q to bring himself eye-level with his fuzzy charge. "Don't listen to him, Splatty. He's just jealous because his beast looks like it's got a pole up his arse."

Q rolled his eyes and pinched his nose. It was going to be a looonnggg three day event.


	288. Psyche

Bond was getting tetchy. All he wanted was a bottle of Scotch and a soft mattress. Instead, he finds himself subjected to a debrief by Tanner during his physical and immediately after sitting in this grey, shiny excuse for a room with its two-way mirror and hard, metal backed excuse for chairs. He wondered if he could piss off the psychiatrist by falling asleep in it anyway…

The door opened, Bond sparing a bored glance towards the sound.

It usually took Bond longer than three seconds to adjust his mindset, but the tall, slender, hazel-eyed, mop-haired boffin standing in his crosshairs might well be worth waking up next to.

Bond found himself sitting a little straighter as he sat down opposite the agent, folding his hands on the metal desk between them and giving him a tight professional smile.

“007. I’m Doctor Quinn and I’ll be assessing your psych eval. Shall we get started?”


	289. Shadow Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Metropolitan Police AU Prompt.

“Don’t forget the cream and sugar, you arsehole!”

Ronson dipped his head down to look through the passenger window of the car and gave his partner a sarcastic salute. “Your wish is always a command, Sergeant,” he retorted before crossing the street to the Costa opposite their parking space.

Bond tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He could think a hundred and one other ways to spend a Saturday night, most of which were being undertaken by London revellers wandering the Soho streets right about this ungodly hour. He opened his eyes with a sigh, his gaze instinctively straying to his rearview mirror where they lingered.

Some revellers tended to stand out from others, especially when they were tall, gaunt, mop-haired boys who looked as though a strong breeze would blow them into the nearest gutter.

And while that sight in itself was interesting, more so were the two men and one woman stalking a modest distance behind him. Bond let them pass by before climbing out of the car.

This may not be America, but To Protect and To Serve was a motto every member of the Force adopted, and Bond was indifferent to who needed it, only that when they did, he would be there if he could.


	290. The Man, The Legend

James Bond.

The father and originator of the Double O programme. Since its inception during the Second World War, it has become a cornerstone of Britain’s Secret Intelligence Service, saving countless lives and taking many others, all in the name of protecting Queen and Country.

Nine positions. All men - white and British - in the beginning, though over time, circumstance and societal shift that did change.

In 1942, Bond adopted the moniker 007 from the nine positions available. No doubt he believed it would bring him luck. In some senses, it did.

It made him immortal.

Not literally, of course. But his name did live on to this day, adopted by every agent who stepped into the 007 position thereafter, creating, in a sense, an urban legend and certainly a name that gave the enemy combatant an unsettling feeling.

The year is 2019 and the current James Bond is MIA.

When he wants to be found, he will be.


	291. ??????????

“If you could do one last thing before you died? What would it be?”

Q interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, flexing his socked toes across James’ lap.

Bond didn’t look at him when he asked the follow up question.

“I thought our Quartermaster had an answer for everything?”

Q remained silent.

Bond was in the mood for an answer. Ripping off a sock and interlacing your fingers between the toes of your Quartermaster has that effect.

Q’s response was sudden, and unexpected.

But his erection would not be wasted.


	292. Empyrean

Bond lay on the mattress, undulating beneath and between the straddled expanse of the man above. The halo of stars dotted across the skylight framed his hair, tousled and disarrayed from their earlier wrestling. Q glanced down and met his gaze, faltering in his movements.

“James?”

Bond pivoted forward from his waist, letting his hand glide gently round Q’s own and glance up the ridges of his spine. Q arched forward and down towards his chest.

A gentle kiss was all it ever took to remind Bond that traversing Hell was worth every moment spent in this version of Heaven.


	293. Stealth I

When injured, one learns to move quietly, stealth like shadow. Senses are heightened when injured. The last thing you want to do is draw attention when you’re weakened by blood loss or bodily damage.

So when Bond arrived back at their flat, a little worse for wear, he was in stealth mode. Not wishing to disturb the Quartermaster who had so deftly manoeuvred him out of a near death situation earlier that day, he slipped into the living room, invisible to Q’s normally finely tuned radar.

He discovered him typing on his laptop on the sofa. Curiosity gripped his mind. He silently stood behind him, and read words he dreaded but could not deny had often passed through his mind when he thought he would not live to die another day.


	294. Stealth II

_I create, I destroy with the same ease as I breathe. I hold secrets and lies in my mind and my heart that can bring Empires to their knees and crumble governments, unleashing the chaos they work so hard to keep at bay._

_But none of these things, not one, compares to the power I feel when I hold his life in my hands. He who breathes life into me with every touch, every look, every kiss. I have yet to understand this power he wields over me. He must never know. I write it here in the hopes I will one day understand, before it consumes me, body and soul…_

Q paused his typing.

“Alan?” he called to the space around him.

His moggy obligingly leaped onto the arm of the sofa. Q reached out to rub his chin and closed the lid of his laptop while in that same motion, the lock on the front door clicked shut.


	295. Stealth III

Bond had every intention of finding a hotel for the night when he silently closed the door behind him. Instead, he found himself sitting on the top step of the landing, forehead resting against the bannister, eyes closed. He breathed softly through the pain in his shoulder, an old bullet wound reopened by a knife. So contemplative of the Quartermaster’s words he had read, he paid little heed to the delivery girl bounding up the stairs to knock on their door.

“Hey man,” she said casually when Q answered the door to hand her the money. “I think there’s a homeless dude on your stairs…”

Q frowned and leaned his head out, recognising the hunched figure. “Thanks,” he replied not batting an eye. “He pops by sometimes and I feed him. I’ll take care of it.”

She shrugged and went on her way, not even pausing to glance his way.

Q put the food in the kitchen and returned to place a hand gently on Bond’s shoulder. He winced. “Injured then,” Q muttered. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get you cleaned up and fed,” guiding him up and into their living space.

It was the door clicking shut that shook Bond back to the present, to haul an unresisting Q into his arms. The pain momentarily suppressed by the pleasure curling in his chest, he kissed him, silently returning the words he had stolen minutes before. 

_I may never understand the power you wield over me, but know I give myself willingly to it, body and soul…_


	296. Stealth IV

Time tangles our memories.

The right kiss with the right person can trap time in a loop that holds you close to the edge of a dive into infinity. That’s simply not fair.

Once known, that experience is impossible to replicate. We are imperfect copies of the perfection we strive to realise within ourselves. And it may only happen once in the countless lifetimes we have wandered across barren mindscapes when we find a single flower, a clear pond with a single fish, a bird circling solitary above. These experiences are unique. The same song is different every time you hear it replayed, either in your ear or in your memory.

_I could kiss you forever and it would never be enough._


	297. Exchange

“Fuck’s sake, James.”

“And?”

“I have work to do.”

“So do I.”

“Really? Because it feels like you’re just having fun.”

“I enjoy my job.”

“Really? Pull the other one.”

“You have another one?”

“Spares are necessary when agents like you are in the field.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Sorry. Distracted.”

“By what exactly? You’re stalking the mark, not engaging.”

“Nevertheless… I can still engage myself to the sound of you in my ear, Q…”


	298. The Silent Treatment

It was his first full day off in weeks. Relaxing on the sofa was a pleasure he had learned to embrace as much as he’d learned to embrace the Quartermaster at every available opportunity allowed.

He glanced up from his book and over the rim of his glasses. He turned a page.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that.”

The silence was deafening.

“I’d suggest you give it up. Hard stares don’t work on me. Years of training you know.”

Soft footfalls padded a path from the kitchen and into the living room. The body took a position beside the agent and continued to stare unblinkingly.

Bond huffed and snapped the book shut.

“Fine. I’ll open a bloody tin of food for you,” he grumbled. “Maybe we should consider adding a feline element to the interrogation portion of the training programme…”


	299. 300

299.

The number of hours since he’d last seen his cats. The feel of Alan’s fur beneath his palm was the last thing remembered before unconsciousness gripped.

Routine had been his downfall. A Thursday night takeout ordered for he and Bond. A pattern he’d missed, blinded by the feeling of safety bestowed upon him by his agent.

 

300.

Q felt the kiss on his forehead, and opened eyes to see the iPad before him. The smell of antiseptic edged his senses, but the scent of Bond was stronger.

“You’ve not seen this film, Q? It’s right up your Spartan alley.”


	300. 009

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Strong is 009.

“Sooooo….?”

Moneypenny was leaning forward palms flat on Q’s workstation.

“Soooo what, Eve?”

“The new 009…” she gently probed.

“What about him?”

Moneypenny drummed her fingers. “Bit a departure from the regular type of Double O don’t you think?”

Q looked up from his laptop, over the top of his glasses, though continued to tap away.

“As the world changes, we too must change with it, Moneypenny. Wouldn’t be a very progressive agency otherwise now, would we?”

Eve’s smile turned sly and knowing. “I’ve been out with you, Q. I’ve seen your type.”

Q sighed and paused, dropped his voice low and leaned forward to close the gap between them. “Actually, Moneypenny, given I’m sapiosexual in my leanings you should know that my type isn’t strictly physically defined.”

“Ah,” she replied, smile widening. “Is that what it is.” Q resumed typing. “Born in London, Italian father, Austrian mother, fluent in both languages.6’ 2” tall. Max Salussolia…” she rolled the name of her tongue as though savouring it.

“My ears are burning!” an approaching jovial voice called from behind them. “Moneypenny, Q. How are the upgrades coming along?”

Q turned on his heel to address the agent. “Your suggestions all taken on board, 009 and the Aston will be ready for your Paris mission.”

“Thank you, Quartermaster.”

“Just doing my job, 009.”

“Lucky to have you, they are,” he said with a smile, “I’ll bring you back something nice from Paris. Maybe some tea? Or a USB containing some useful information perhaps.”

“Away with you,” Q shushed at him, turning his back to him. “I don’t accept bribes from Double Os.”

Salussolia was already retreating, “No good deed, Q…!”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Moneypenny called playfully after him but he didn’t reply. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see then,” she finished, following his exit. Q rolled his eyes, hoping the mild blush on his cheeks did not betray some thoughts that said Head of Department was doing his most diligent to ignore.


	301. A Personal Statement

The attraction was immediate, and Bond, despite his obvious leanings in the direction of the female form could not deny the pull on his instincts towards this particular version of the human body and the mind housed within.

And to go from the frequent scolding of which he’d been on the receiving end for many a mission to this…

_“I have a reward system in place for agents who return their equipment intact and…” at this point the young boffin had tipped his face forward to give Bond his best schoolmaster look, “fully functional.”_

_“The reward or the equipment?” Bond had asked._

_“Finding that out is part of the reward,” Q replied, rising from the bench in front of Turner’s Temeraire. Bond watched him go, wondering what brave new world awaited him on his return from Shanghai._

And as Bond wrestled the Walther from the dying hand of his assailant trapped in the steel jaws of Komodo death, he realised how far he would travel this brave new world to unearth and explore the treasures now occupying Q Branch.

Giving a damn might reap its own rewards, he thought to the fading screams of his enemy quickly replaced with the image of his own beast devouring the offering he was sure awaited.


	302. A Gun & A Radio

The gun hung loosely by his side, grip barely there. His free hand glanced along the sleeve of the suit, its wearer’s hand resting gently on Q’s hip.

“No one knows where I live,” Q breathed the words against his cheek. “I demand to know how you found me. I know I wasn’t followed.”

Bond said nothing, instead answering with a move of his hand into the pocket of Q’s cardigan.

Q looked down. “You said you’d lost that, lying bastard…”

“You promised me a reward if I brought everything back. And we know it’s… fully functional,” Bond’s lips lightly caressing his jawline. “I’m here to collect.”


	303. Brave New... Something

“Nine times out of ten, you cause a diplomatic incident that M has to clean up, or several million worth of damage that either I or the taxpayers of another country have to compensate. One sliver of good behaviour doesn’t cancel out a history of misdemeanours, 007.”

Not the response Bond was expecting but nothing if not adaptable to most situations. He leaned back to assess the mark.

The facade was cool, measured, but eyes cannot hid their truths, even behind a lens of slightly distorting glass…

His gaze lingered on Q’s parted lips. “Then small rewards for small deeds?”


	304. Suspension

We choose the line we walk early in life. In Bond’s case, the line is that split decision taken on every mission to sacrifice or save.

And here he was again, watching himself and Q, weighing up his next move with care and due process. Ever the agent, occasionally the gentleman.

He glanced the back of his fingers along his neck, fanning them out around his throat to feel the swallow of his Adam’s Apple against the rough pad of his palm, and the strong, rapid morse of a pulse against his fingers. Bond moved the hand down, a soft caress of a collarbone before coming to rest on his chest. He sighed, finally looking up from his scrutiny of Q’s lips to meet his eyes once more.

“Reward enough in measure I think,” Bond whispered.

Stepping back, he headed for the door through which he had not arrived. He glanced around in brief assessment. “You have impeccable taste, Quartermaster,” the observation ending on the lock's soft click heralding the closure of their all-too-brief dalliance.


	305. Confection Detection

“Mmmm, that looks interesting. What does it do? Bomb? Sedative? Hidden lock pick?”

Q looked at the only thing on his worktop to which Bond could be referring. He picked it up in one hand, his cup of Earl Grey in the other. “Nothing so dramatic, 007. It does however increase my blood sugar level and calms the murderous thoughts to which I might be occasionally prone when it comes to dealing with gung ho agents. Or more succinctly, in a word, cupcake,” he finished, chomping down on the confection and chewing slowly before washing it down with a mouthful of tea, all the while watched by a bemused Bond, who from the look in his eyes, was happily reliving the memory of their brief encounter the night before.

“What can I do for you, 007? Besides put on a show that is.”

Bond leaned comfortably against the wall opposite Q’s workstation, his hands in pockets. “I’m here to collect my…” he paused, allowing Q his turn to look amusedly bemused. “Walther?”


	306. Locked and Loaded

“Of course, 007. It’s in the weapons hold. If you’d care to follow me…” Q said. Walking towards the steps leading down into the bullpen. He was well aware of the blue hot look tracking his movements, trailing far enough behind him to appreciate the view in high definition. Q pushed open the door and entered. Bond noted he left it open but didn’t comment. “As I didn’t have to repair it at all, I thought an upgrade was in order. Call it a reward for behaving yourself, 007…” He removed the gun from its locker and passed it to the agent.

“I shall endeavour to maintain that streak, Q. What’s the upgrade?”

“Grip the handle as usual and place your finger on the trigger.” Two seconds later, one of the 3 lights switched to amber. “That means the safety is off automatically.”

“Nice touch,” said Bond appreciatively with a smile. He removed his finger and the light went back to green. He holstered the gun. “Any reward for bringing this back in one piece?”

Q brushed by him dismissively to exit the room, saying, “Just try not to blow your cock off and we’ll see what we can do.”

Bond’s laughter could be heard across the bullpen, a rare and almost unsettling sound to the ears of Q-staffers who knew him too well.


	307. London Heat

Q’s senses were perked. Behind him that was a noticeable absence of sound. He turned and noted at least four of his techs were not at their posts. He checked the time. Not coffee break. Not lunch. It took his powers of deduction less than ten seconds to conclude to where they had wandered off.

Marching purposefully towards the server room, he strolled through the door and without missing a beat said, “I know London’s baking right now and I know you’re in here, you lot, cooling your heels. Soaking up the air con is a cost to Her Majesty coffers and a threat to National Security you know!”

They scurried from behind the banks, looking sheepish and mumbling apologies. Q paused before exiting the room himself and inhaled the cool air deeply. He might have to partake himself later, after hours of course…


	308. Air Con

Bond was late. But fashionably so, he always liked to think, and it wasn’t as though Q would be anywhere else on a Friday night, forever glued to his post. Bond fleetingly wondered if he’d somehow managed to clone himself. He was certainly clever enough…

So to arrive at said post to find it unmanned was unusual to say the least.

“He’s in the server room, Sir. Backing up today’s intel,” one of the nearest boffins said walking passed him, iPad in hand.

Bond turned on his heel and strolled to the opposite end of the room, noting a red light above the door.

Well. Red lights anywhere didn’t apply to James sodding Bond so he sauntered in with his usual air of ownership. It was quiet but for the gentle murmur of hard drives at work and cool air circulating around the room, until Bond turned a bank of servers and suddenly the temperature took it upon itself to rise a degree or three…


	309. Air Non-Conventional

_Bliss……_

Q stood in the corner of the room his back to Bond’s approach. Bond paused to absorb the reflection in the glass casings of two server banks flanking his position, in them, the rather disarming sight of a a tieless Q; no cardigan, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He’d also, assuming privacy would not be abused (he hadn’t banked on Bond materialising but then, who does?) by his minions, and had undone his shirt to halfway down his torso. A large fan was behind him on the floor billowing under the shirt which had been removed from its tucked position in his trousers. Q paused his typing and rolled back his shoulders. After removing his glasses, he stretched his arms above his head. Bond felt the imminent turn a split second before it happened and pivoted his body behind a server. Fortunately, reflecting glass was not scarce so Bond could admire the ripples from shirt and hair as Q faced the fan and let its cooling breeze wash across heated skin.

Bond’s imagination hadn’t done him justice. And he prided himself on his innovation.

He felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt imagining his hands replacing the air currently caressing the Quartermaster. This, he could not have. His habit of destroying beautiful things that mattered to this world must have some restraint. He took a deep breath and decided to do what he usually did to quell the desire.

Resort to their text book banter.

He circled back between the server banks to bring him alongside but slightly behind Q’s position. He leaned nonchalantly, arms crossed on his chest, before he spoke.

“You know, it’s not often I get blown away twice in one day….”

_The Quartermaster’s response cannot be printed due to there being no words in the English language to describe it._


	310. System Reboot

“Do you re-mem-ber?” Each syllable from Bond was punctuated by a heavy thrust of his hips into the backside of his Quartermaster. “What you said?”

But Q was beyond words and words were beyond Q.

Yes, he remembered….

_After the ten second barrage of every swear word that sprang forth when Bond had caused him to leap out of his skin much like a cat who had been sneaked up on by a cucumber, he had begun laughing hysterically, much to Bond’s confusion._

_“It was good line granted Q, but it wasn’t that funny.”_

_Q’s laughter faded as quickly as it had begun then. He had no idea why he felt that moment was the one in which to proposition the agent in no uncertain terms._

_He walked towards him, Bond backing away into the corner from where he had skulked. Q undid the last few buttons of his shirt. Bond stared. Q stared back. “I was just thinking of you. And just about to touch myself thinking of you. But as you’re here now…”_

“Fuck…” Bond ground out, his thrusts losing their rhythm, staccato-ing into climax. “I thought—thought— I was dreaming.”

He flopped down beside him, blue eyes wide and warm, meeting a hazel-tinted lust drunk expression. “Maybe I still am…”


	311. Repression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU 00Q00 - Little known fact about James Bond; it wasn't a maid he shoved into that cupboard at Eton, but a kitchen boy. He's been a repressed homosexual all his life. How else could he be so callous with his female conquests?
> 
> But the combined force of one Alec Trevelyan and the new Quartermaster were about to change that. You can only run from your true nature for so long.

Bond watched the interaction from the entrance, the new 006, Alec Trevelyan, casually flirting with their young Quartermaster.

It was… _obscene…_

Because it may be the 21st Century, but that didn’t mean Bond had to like it, or live in it for that matter.

“TREVELYAN!” he boomed. “Are you coming? We haven’t got all day!”

Alec turned with an almost bored - yes _bored -_ expression that made Bond briefly want to punch his face. The agent leaned towards Q though not enough to be accused of invading his space and whispered something with a wink before turning to the exit. Bond watched the brief eye roll from the Quartermaster and just a hint of a blush manifest on his cheekbones.

He frowned at the smug look walking his way. “What did you say to him?”

“Just complimented him on his cardigan,” Trevelyan said casually.

Bond looked incredulous. “That thing is a monstrosity and an offence to the eye.”

Trevelyan paused. “You, Bond, are a heathen. Your wardrobe barely extends beyond the 1980s and Tom Ford is so last decade. THAT,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder at the man now standing with his back to them, “is a Dries van Noten. Lad’s got more taste than his predecessor and a much better arse at that…”

Bond took one last look before heaving a composing breath through his nostrils and turning to follow Trevelyan. He really, REALLY needed to beat the shit out of something.


	312. Oedipus

_“James?”_

_Monique’s voice was muffled, fuzzy. James was tucked away in the cool Priest's Hole, reading, lost in another world. Aliens, monsters, zombies, spies. Anything was better than the eerily quiet desolation of the Scottish moors. James blinked at the light flooding through the door just opened by his Mother. There was a little sunlight found in her eyes at least._

_“There you are…”_

_“JAMES!”_

The book slipped from his lap with a thud just as the wheels of the plane hit tarmac.

Q’s voice in his ear, chuckled. _“Sleeping on the job, 007? Pleasant dreams I hope at least.”_


	313. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On holiday. Feeling sappy.

The slim line of white light breaks through the bathroom door. Q has done his best not to wake Bond but the man’s internal body clock is still in the wrong time zone. He watches Q through the thin crack of his eye while he assesses his pale naked form in the mirror, turning this way and that for long seconds, studying the lines and hard curves. He scowls then and punches the light, not happy but resigned. He climbs with care back into the bed and sighs. Bond rolls over unexpectedly, bracketing him beneath his body between strong forearms and kisses the gasping mouth.

He leans up, and buries his hands into Q's hair, smiling softly, a caress as loving as a tired agent can muster.

“If you could see yourself through my eyes, you would know you’re the most beautiful thing in the world…”


	314. Reflections II

“Who are you and what have you done with 007? I could have sworn he was one of MI6’s best and most well-travelled agents,” Q huffed, turning his face to the side rather than meet the warm gaze pinning him to the mattress.

Bond shifted, tilting his hips down to nestle between Q’s thighs, still smiling despite the obvious tiredness grappling with his brain.

“I’ve travelled all over the world. Met, bedded and killed some of the most striking-looking people in my work. Do you know what you have that they do not, my delectable nerd?”

Q gave him a sideways glance while Bond slipped one hand down his side and slid his lips against his neck. “A pair of arse cheeks that could turn a shitty loaf of bread into an artisan masterpiece and the only cock I want waking me up at the crack of dawn,” he murmured.

It would seem it’s never too late to grow a sense of humour that can only be nurtured by the melodic laughter of a Quartermaster in love.


	315. Going Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER DIFFERENT FIRST MEETING?!

“So this is it. We’re both played out.”

M tossed her bag on a nearby chair, having recovered from her brief shock at the reappearance of her wayward agent in her living room. “Speak for yourself, Bond. There’s life in this old bulldog yet. And if you believe that why did you come back?”

Bond heaved a sigh and crossed his arms. “Good question. For better or worse, I’m here.”

“Well, you’ll have to debriefed and declared fit for active service. You can only return to duty when you’ve passed the tests, so do try and take them seriously.” She sniffed. “And a shower might be in order.”

James stood. “I’ll go home and change.”

M turned to him from the bottom of her stairs. “Good luck with that. We transferred the deeds.”

Bond looked incredulous. “It’s only been—“

“Three months yes. Long enough. You should have called.”

She was halfway up the stairs when she threw her parting shot, a hint of humour in her voice. "Maybe if you ask nicely the new Quartermaster might let you sleep on your former couch…”


	316. Going Back II

It was past 10pm when Arthur finally made it home. It had been only five days since the bombing of River House and the premature death of his Commanding Officer. How long it would be before that pain eased he couldn’t guess. Boothroyd had been like a father and a mentor and to be catapulted into his position without ceremony simply added another level of pain at how disposable life in their line of work could be.

He strolled down the corridor towards his apartment with as much energy as tired limbs could muster, pausing only once along the way to tap lightly on his neighbour’s door. Jack answered. “Ah Arthur. Another late night?” Jason, his partner called from another room. “Who is it honey?”

Jack rolled his eyes at Arthur who gave a tired smile. “Thanks for looking after Alan,” he said.

“Anytime, you sweet boy,” Jack said with a flirty wink. “He’s just finishing a late dinner. Pining for you earlier I think. Why don’t I pop him round in ten when he’s done?”

Arthur nodded and stifled a yawn. “Sure,” he mumbled. Jack gave a sympathetic pout and shooed him towards his own front door. “Off you go. Make yourself a hot drink and Alan’ll be right along.”

He shuffled inside and made quick work of removing bag, shoes, coat and cardigan on his way to the kitchen to throw the switch on his kettle before heading to the bedroom and shrugging on his pyjamas. He was surprised to hear a knock on his door less than two minutes later. 

He opened it saying, “well that was sooner than expected,” only to be met, not by the green eyes and furry body of his four-legged friend but a blue-eyed demon risen from the dead. Bond took in the sight of the awkward looking boffin with a raised eyebrow.

Arthur forced the words to come. Not quite believing them as he spoke them out loud. “Double… Oh… Seven?”

“You must be joking…”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [【授权翻译】00Q时刻 by Rigel99](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744109) by [mogana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogana/pseuds/mogana)




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